Strictly Business
by Otaku786
Summary: The cons of this job: 1 He had no acting experience. 2 He'd practically be selling his body. 3 He'd never even considered being gay, so how the hell was he supposed to HAVE SEX WITH A BOY ON CAMERA? The pros:...The money. -Summary inside;NOT PWP!-
1. Prelude

_**Summary: **__Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie, _Strictly Business_. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!_

_**Pairings: **__Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings._

_**WARNING: **__Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP)._

_**Disclaimer: **__Tite Kubo is the owner of _Bleach_, and the idea of _Strictly Business_ is purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi)._

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><p><strong>Strictly Business<strong>

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><p><em>Were you tested positive for HIV? <em>…NO

_Were you tested positive for AIDS? _...NO

_Were you tested positive for any other STD(s)? (If so, please list alphabetically.) _…NO/NE

Seventeen year-old Ichigo sighed as brown eyes reviewed the waver in his left hand. The faintest blush dusted his scowling face as he ran his right hand through the spiked orange locks that crowned his head. Man, he never thought he'd ever have to fill something like _that_ out for a summer job. But then, he already knew this gig would present a lot of other—_worse_—things he'd have to do that he'd never done before. Like having to _publicly _have _sex_ with a _guy_.

Right, like he was even gay in the first place.

Ichigo was currently weaving his way through the dimly-lit halls of the movie studio. Groups of extras, he assumed they were, were crowded along the walls. Many of them were sipping coffees and chatting loudly about nothing at all, as if it were a competition among the various posses to see whom were the most unnecessary. There were couples making out here and there, which made Ichigo's face heat every time he had to creep past them, seeing as how most were boy-on-boy. And of course, fangirls were littered everywhere. Gushing, squealing, giggling, nose-bleeding fangirls whom Ichigo knew must have felt in paradise upon seeing the public displays of affection. He couldn't help but wonder: if they responded that way while viewing action among extras, how would they react when watching Ichigo in action from behind the scenes?

After all, he was playing the movie's lead seme.

The orange haired teen followed the glow-in-the-dark arrows on the floor that pointed toward the core of the building, where he figured the main set was located. Taking note of the neon arrows and candle-light hall lighting, Ichigo was becoming highly suspicious of the studio manager's personality. There was even a faint scent of incense hidden beneath coffee and perfume. Was this setting just to add to the exotic atmosphere? Considering the types of movies that were filmed here, that was probably the case.

Ichigo didn't notice that the buzzing crowd was thinning until he turned a corner into a much shorter hallway and realized all voices were behind him. And without all the conflicting odors, the calming aroma of incense was freely absorbed by Ichigo's senses. Without people blocking the view of the walls, he now saw that they were completely bare and painted a dark color that looked black in this lighting. Yeah; the studio manager definitely either had a strange taste for décor or a night-club-complex.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his head as his roaming eyes fell on the lone figure at the end of the hallway. The man was tall and tan and, well, buff, Ichigo decided as he approached the guy. His black hair was cornrowed and his mustache connected with face-framing sideburns. The man's bulging arms were folded as his appraised the nearing orange-haired teenager through a set of rectangular-shaped glasses.

"State your business, young man." The taller man spoke in a gruff voice. "Only the main cast and crew are allowed beyond this point."

It was then that Ichigo took note of the double doors behind the guard and how the path of neon arrows on the floor ended at the threshold. Well, at least he'd finally made it here. But then, that meant he was that much closer to what he was about to do. And he wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that.

Don't get him wrong; Ichigo knew exactly what he'd be getting himself when he first considered answering the ad in his dad's newspaper. And it had taken him a week—seven nights with little sleep—of debating whether or not he was up for the job. The cons: 1. He had no acting experience. 2. He'd practically be selling his body—except on a movie set rather than a street corner or the hotel room of some pervert with a camera—and 3. He'd never even considered being gay, so how the hell was he supposed to _have sex with a boy on camera_? The pros: With that much money, he could help pay for his and his sisters' school tuitions, no problem. He'd even surprise his widower father by paying some of the bills. (Yes, he was a blue-blooded altruist when it came to his family.)

When he looked at it, the money would be worth it. Besides, it's not like he really had a problem with the script. Though he was a virgin, he'd seen and read plenty of porno in his teenage life. He was a quick learner, so 'doing the deed' wouldn't be a problem. And doing it with a guy would definitely be different—not to mention _very awkward_—but it was just sex. It's not like this turned him on to guys. Besides, he doubted anyone who would see this movie and then see him in person would come right out and address his actions, because they'd be just as guilty for watching such a movie in the first place. Yes, Ichigo figured he'd go out for this role, collect his money, and put this gig behind him.

That's why now, in front of the guard, Ichigo relaxed and allowed a small sheepish smile to play on his lips.

"My name's Ichigo Kurosaki. I play Akio Morita in _Strictly Business_." Ichigo replied, standing at attention with the waver by his left side and his right hand up to his forehead in a salute.

The guard once again sized up the teen before him. He looked to be around 5'9". He was wearing black slacks and a white v-neck with a vertical black stripe down the middle. Over this, he wore a candy-apple-red jacket, whose outer halves of its sleeves were white with tiny black polka-dots. He wore black, white and red-embroidered converse. The guard noted the boy's drawn eyebrows and, of course, his spiky shock of orange hair. What would you even call that shade, ginger? Carrot?

"Ah, so you're the strawberry Urahara told me about. You don't see that colored hair on many young lads in Karakura." The guard commented. He unfolded his large arms and adjusted his glasses. Then he stepped to the side, grabbed the door handle nearest him, and effortlessly pulled the heavy door open. "You're actually a bit early, but a few people are already here, so go on in. Just follow the signs to get to the director's room."

"Thanks a lot." Ichigo said as he bowed his head in respect before passing.

Once inside, the door swung shut behind him. The first thing Ichigo registered was the overhead fluorescent lights that had him squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness of his surroundings. The reflective, white painted walls didn't help. But when he did adjust, Ichigo took notice of the other major differences between this hall and the previous. Like how, for example, there was now black carpet beneath his feet rather than ceramic tile. And how, also, this much longer hallway was lined with doors on either side, ending with another set of double doors. Ichigo glanced at the names on each sliding door as he passed, and he couldn't help but notice that even he—who wasn't much interested in the media—had heard of some of them.

Oh, how he felt like he didn't belong…

Ichigo shook his head slightly to put his thoughts back on track and resumed following the signs overhead that stated whose rooms were located between there and the next sign. Finally, Ichigo came to the end of the hall. He was mildly confused—thinking he missed the director's name—and was about to turn back when he noticed the nameplate on the double doors in front of him.

"Urahara Shōten."

Ichigo rubbed the back of his head as he scrutinized the nameplate. The director's room was a…shop? What kind of shop was in the middle of a movie studio? Deciding this place was only going to get stranger, Ichigo shrugged to himself before reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.

"Um…hello! Anyone in here?" Ichigo called just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to potentially startle someone.

No matter though; he didn't receive an answer. His brown gaze wandered the room that was void of any life but packed with rows of shelves. It was indeed just like a gift shop. And at the back of the room, Ichigo could see, was another door that he guessed the director was hiding in.

The frown on the teen's face deepened. This was it. He was going to meet Kisuke Urahara, the man people only dared to whisper about in the halls of Karakura High if they felt no qualms about revealing their sexual lives. Urahara was known on the down low for his sex toys, erotica novels, and explicit magazines. His work was actually considered illegal in some areas, one reason being that his movies were the only films in which "actors" actually engaged in intercourse rather than feigning movements. Nothing like getting into character, right? And yet…perhaps the government was filled with more perverts than people thought, because Urahara had never been arrested. Rumor had it that the director used to be a government official who "entertained" his colleagues in his spare time, and that's why he was let off the hook so easily.

Ichigo couldn't fathom why he'd signed up for this.

Oh right, he needed the money.

Oh, the things people do for money….

As Ichigo headed for the back of the shop, the nervous scowl on his face morphed into an expression of disbelief and embarrassment. Stocking the shelves were anything the actors needed, he supposed, to "get motivated". Dildos. Vibrators. Magazines. A suggestive assortment of handcuffs, chains, and blindfolds. Lubricant. And, of course, Urahara's secretly famous condoms that, he'd heard, _felt as if nothing was there_. The rest of the shelf space was occupied by items that Ichigo had never seen before. He had no idea as to what their purposes were, but he blushed when his imagination rushed to make up for the lack of information.

Face burning; Ichigo finally reached the back door whose nameplate simply read "Director". From inside, Ichigo could hear muffled voices. He would feel rude for interrupting: maybe he could just come back later.

No, best to get this over with…

Ichigo took a deep, reassuring breath before raising his hand to tap the door with his knuckles. The conversation from the other side quieted to silence, and Ichigo briefly felt the impending doom that horror-flick characters feel when being approached by their to-be-murderer.

No! Don't go in there! Run away!

The door handle clicked as a lock slid out of place, and Ichigo froze. The door swung open to reveal Mr. Hat-and-Clogs, himself. Kisuke Urahara.

"Why, hello there Kurosaki-kun!" the man greeted loud enough to make Ichigo flinch. Urahara pulled a paper fan from somewhere on his person and opened it to conceal his wide grin, but Ichigo had already seen it. What's with that creepy enthusiasm? He was totally poker-faced back at—

"—the interview!" Kisuke spoke suddenly, and Ichigo almost jumped in surprise. Was this guy just— "—reading your thoughts? No, no, sorry to disappoint you, Kurosaki-kun! I'm just your average movie director. Actually I was going to apologize for my façade at the interview. You see, I wanted you as soon as you walked in the room, but I had to put on a professional face in front of every possible 'Akio' because, as you know, this whole gig is _strictly business_. Eh, eh? You see how I slid that one in there? Clever, right?"

"U-um, yeah…right." Ichigo chuckled politely. But he rubbed the back of his head, trying to reign in his slight confusion and utter embarrassment. He wondered if Urahara was conscious of his own sexual innuendos or if _he_ was just too conscious of his surroundings and read too far into the dialogue. Realizing that he was tensing up again, Ichigo diverted his thoughts to…

To what? He was surrounded by sex propaganda; the very reason for his anxiety in the first place. What else could he distract himself with…? Ichigo blinked before sparing a glance down at the director's wardrobe. Just like his persona, his outfit was the polar opposite of his appearance at the interview. Back then, he'd been wearing a crisp black suit, complete with dark green button-up and white tie. But now, he was dressed in loose-fitting, traditional-style clothes: dark green pants and shirt adorned with a black, robe-like coat. On his feet were traditional Japanese wooden geta, and crowning his pale blonde hair was a green- and white-striped bucket hat. Compared to Ichigo's initial impression, Urahara now struck him as a professional bum.

"Hmm? What's this…are you checking me out, Kurosaki-kun?" His arch of eyebrows was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, but his tone expressed obvious amusement. Urahara's grin didn't disappear. In fact, it seemed to widen.

"W-what!" Ichigo sputtered, visibly jumping a bit. His eyes were wide with horror, trying to meet Urahara's gaze to see if he was serious, but the man's eyes were also overshadowed. Ichigo stuttered his objections to the idea, completely appalled. "No! Of course not! Why would I be…what makes you think I'd…No! Absolutely not! I would never—"

Urahara laughed heartily, waving his fan in dismissal at the flustered teen. "Relax, Kurosaki-kun, I was just kidding." Ichigo's cries of indignation trailed off and he sealed his mouth with a deep scowl. Urahara barely resisted the urge to chuckle at Kurosaki's reaction and made a mental note to tease the boy more in the near future; while he was still sensitive about his innocence. "For now, why don't you join us in the back?" the director continued, gesturing behind him. "You're right on time."

"Oh, really? That big guy out front said I was early…." Ichigo narrowed his eyes in apprehension. Could you blame him for being suspicious? He didn't want to say that he distrusted his employer, but he also couldn't say that he felt entirely comfortable around the older man. As a matter of fact, he didn't feel comfortable at all! What had that been just now?

As if sensing Ichigo's trepidation—or reading his thoughts after all—the director spoke again. "Tessai was right; you're early for the _meeting_. That's in an hour. But you're _right on time _to meet your co-star! We were just talking about you, actually. I was hoping the two of you could meet without all the others around. You know: introduce yourselves, get to know each other, see how compatible you are…Ah! I see you've brought the waver!"

Ichigo opened his mouth to refute Urahara's apparent role as match-maker, but that damned case of nerves had returned to clog his throat. He was reminded of who he was talking to (undoubtedly the biggest pervert in Karakura), where he was (the source of innumerable sexual films), and what he was doing here (to become the newest poster child of the pornographic black market). Would the money really be worth it? He'd been dreading this moment, and he was now just seconds away from meeting his "co-star": the person with whom he would practically be living for the next several months; the person to whom he'd be getting closer than he'd ever been with anyone before in his life; the man with whom he'd agreed to have hours of sex without any emotional attachment. _For money._ Ichigo felt sick.

Because what do you even _say_ to a person like that? Hi, my name's Ichigo Kurosaki? I'm being paid thousands of dollars to act gay and fuck you over and over until it looks right on camera? I'm looking forward to _working _with you? I hope we can be _friends_?

Like hell!

"Kurosaki-kun?" Urahara's grin was starting to dim. Kurosaki hadn't even blinked, but he could tell that the strawberry's anxiety was increasing. It was tangible in the space between them. Not being a total sadist and having some mercy on the youth, Kisuke decided to spare the rookie for the moment. His playful smirk all but disappeared. In a much quieter, much more serious tone, not unlike the one he'd used back at the interview, the director said, "Calm down, Ichigo. Nothing's happening today. Besides, I already promised you that we'd never force you to do anything you couldn't handle. You could always leave now, rip up that waver, and forget you were ever here."

Ichigo blinked. His brown eyes locked on Urahara's gray ones, which were now visible and gazing right at him. "No," he said firmly, "That's alright. I'm just…I've been looking forward to meeting him, is all. Let's get to it." The teen held out the white waver in offering and rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand.

The director continued to stare at him calculatingly for a few moments longer, but then his eyes vanished into his hat's shadow, and his overzealous grin reappeared. He accepted the waver and Kurosaki's silent declaration of dedication and determination that came with it. "Well, that's just marvelous! Just follow me, Kurosaki-kun. He's been waiting to meet you as well."

And Ichigo did follow. Oh, he was still nervous. He'd never been tenser about anything in his life. But Ichigo Kurosaki had never been a quitter, and he wasn't about to start now just because he had a case of cold feet. So what if this—he glanced back out at the shop before closing the door—wasn't his usual terrain? If he thought about it, tackling this job would be just like another match with his friend and karate expert, Tatsuki Arisawa. No matter what, he wouldn't run away. He would see this through to the end, and if nothing else, he would have the experience.

Besides, once he'd handed the waver to the director, turning back was no longer an option.

The former government official led Ichigo down a short, dimly lit hallway that ended with a doorway on either side. The left, Ichigo glimpsed, was a dark storage room. He followed his employer to the right, but whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been to walk into, well, an ordinary lounge.

On the wall corresponding to the doorway was a flat screen TV, and below it was a stereo system with shelves and shelves of CDs. Along the left and back walls of the room were two long, identical futons. Along the right wall was a small kitchenette, and in the middle of the room was a rug, on top of which sat a low, circular coffee table surrounded by cushions. Ichigo was not only surprised at the lack of extravaganza, but also at the completely neutral color scheme. His eyes had been abused by the ever-changing lighting and myriad of colors that adorned the movie studio, so this change was a great relief. He smelled the vanilla-scented candles that burned quietly in the corners of the room. Soft classical music floated out of the surround-sound system overhead.

Everything about the haven promised peace and shelter from the insanity that lies in wait just outside the Director's door. But Ichigo could do anything but relax.

For why was a child in a place like this?

No, Ichigo was not referring to himself. Rather, he was staring quite pointedly at the other youth who'd already been occupying the room.

He was curled up at one end of the futon at the far wall—directly opposite Ichigo—with his knees drawn up to his chest. He was texting on his cell phone, and was clad in a black golf shirt with gray pants. Ichigo took note of the neatly aligned kicks in front of the futon, which meant the boy's hidden feet were either socked or bare. But more importantly did Ichigo note the boy's hair. He wasn't sure which was more surprising: its shade, or its apparent defiance of gravity? The boy's head was fully topped with silvery white tresses that spiked out in all directions to form a crown of snow, and a tamer group of stray tresses obscured the left side of his face as a bang. Ichigo, himself, couldn't count the number of times he'd ever been asked whether he dyed or gelled his hair to achieve its orange spikiness, so he couldn't even begin to imagine how many times this kid had been asked the same thing. Ichigo almost pitied the boy.

And why the hell was he _there_?

Ichigo was only getting a side-view, but this kid looked to be about his sisters' age. And there was absolutely no freaking way in hell that he—let alone his dad—would ever allow Karin or Yuzu within even a mile of this whole building. So why was this snow-haired middle school student all comfortable on the sofa in the back room of a _sex_ shop in the middle of a _pornographic movie_ studio? Ichigo was usually a laid back guy who couldn't give a crap about what other people did, but looking at this boy now, all he could see was one of his sisters in his position. And that was enough to set Ichigo's big-brother-blood on high alert. He shifted to demand an explanation from the smiling director.

"Urahara…" The man's name was echoed. Kisuke smiled wider behind his paper fan.

Slightly thrown off by the second voice, Ichigo's attention shifted to the source of the calm echo. The boy's head raised and his eyes moved from his phone's screen to focus on the two people standing by the doorway. The orbs drifted from the perky blonde to the orange-haired, and Ichigo found his gaze immediately locked on the most wondrous pools he'd ever seen. And he wasn't exaggerating in the least when he dubbed them as such. The boy's eyes were big, and their coloring was even more peculiar than that of his hair. From here, Ichigo could tell if they were blue or green or…what? Turquoise? Teal? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that they were unlike any he'd ever seen before, and that such eyes could never belong to a child…at least, they shouldn't. They were too…too…

"Urahara, is this him?"

The voice once again took him off guard, as Ichigo hadn't expected the pubescent pitch to come from the young looking male. But indeed, the white-haired had spoken, and after reflecting over the question, Ichigo realized that the boy had somehow been expecting him. Those eyes were probing his face, where Ichigo felt his reflexive scowl forming under the strange intensity of the stare. Who was this kid? Ichigo thought Urahara was going to introduce him to his costar. Instead, he was being scrutinized by a guy whose clipped voice contradicted his casual appearance, and Ichigo couldn't understand why he was suddenly being wordlessly criticized.

"Yep! This is our Kurosaki-kun." Urahara chirped, proudly indicating to the waver in the hand that wasn't holding his fan. The director beamed behind the pathetic excuse for a lid on his excitement as he awaited the approval he knew was coming.

The boy didn't respond right away. He snapped his phone shut before sliding it into his pocket, and then turned to face Ichigo. His feet slid out to reveal white socks, but he ignored his shoes when he stood up and began to approach the orange haired teen with his arms folded, never breaking eye contact. Ichigo's shoulders involuntarily tensed and resisted the urge to break the connection. He felt slight relief when the kid looked away first, but the feeling was short-lived; for instead of his face, the turquoise magnifying glasses started roaming Ichigo's entire body. The teen rubbed the back of his neck feeling slightly self-conscious. He had the distinct feeling that he was being sized up, but he found this ironic, considering the guy was a full head shorter than him. Granted, the boy's hair made him seem taller, but the effect was lost as Ichigo could only point out more childlike features facing him head-on.

The guy's face possessed more roundness than Ichigo's did, and there were no blemishes to the naked eye. His skin looked pale and smooth, like porcelain, except for the furrowing of his white eyebrows as he continued to stare. His arms, exposed by the golf shirt's short sleeves, were just as pale and obviously on the lean side. The rest of his body seemed just as petite. Ichigo could have easily passed the guy off as a child, if not for the power in the boy's turquoise eyes, and the tone in the next words from his mouth.

"I suppose he'll do." The boy apparently concluded. His eyes finally glanced away; to Urahara. "How much time do we have?"

"Enough time." The director answered vaguely, smirk never faltering.

"Enough time for what?" Ichigo arched an orange eyebrow, flipping through his memory of the last thirty seconds to see if there was something said that he'd missed. Not recalling anything but the classical music, Ichigo scowled, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, and waited to be answered.

A piano solo was the only response he received.

Urahara left Ichigo's side, passing the white-haired male, who nodded in silent understanding. Ichigo watched in mild confusion as the man went to do something over at the kitchenette, and then turned his attention back to the younger one in front of him. A brown eye twitched when it once again met turquoise. The boy had been staring at him again and Ichigo was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable. He forgot why he'd followed the director back here in the first place and instead was trying to remember what he'd done that could've caused the boy to eye him in such a way. Unable to recall anything reprehensible, and unable to ignore the weighty stare any longer, Ichigo decided it was time to speak up again.

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did but—"

"Take off your clothes."

What? Ichigo blinked, taking a few moments to replay the words. The tone had been nonchalant, and for a second, he thought that his unasked question had been answered—this place was apparently crawling with mind-readers. But…"take off your clothes"? That didn't answer his question, did it? Why would the boy be staring at him because he was wearing clothes? That would mean the guy wanted him to strip for some reason. Oh, that was it. The guy just wanted him to strip, that's all, Ichigo concluded. He wanted him to take his clothes off….

He wanted him to take his clothes off?

"W-wait, what!" Ichigo jumped back a bit upon reaching the revelation and stared at the shorter man incredulously. "What did you just say?"

The boy sighed, sounding tired for reasons unknown to Ichigo: the reason being that Urahara had promised; no more idiots. Was this strawberry just slow? "I _said_, take your clothes off."

"Why the _hell_ would I do that?" Ichigo snapped in a voice pinched by embarrassment. Thinking about stripping or anything related to overly exposed skin reminded him of where he was and what awaited him just outside and he was trying _very _hard to maintain his composure. So, in attempt to distract his own mind, but mostly because he really wanted to know, he asked, "Who are you anyway? And why are you here?"

The guy wasn't fazed by the spontaneity and answered almost automatically, "You will address me as Hitsugaya..." He arched an eyebrow. "And I would've thought the reason for my being here was obvious."

"If it was, I wouldn't be asking, now would I be?" Ichigo countered just as coolly. He already didn't like the guy's attitude, and they'd barely exchanged a few sentences. He shot a glance at Urahara, whom had settled down at the coffee table with, what he assumed to be, a cup of tea. The director was lifting said cup of tea to his lips when Ichigo directed at him, "Urahara-san, who is this kid?"

Kisuke froze with the cup just an inch away from his mouth. The song that had been playing now ended, and while the stereo automatically shifted in search of the next disk, a hush settled over the lounge. Was it just Ichigo, or did the room's atmosphere suddenly feel even tenser…colder?

"_Excuse_ me," Ichigo almost flinched under the icy glare, and he realized that this unsettling feeling was emanating from the person in front of him. If he wasn't absolutely sure before, he was now: those eyes definitely didn't belong to a child. They were too…_cold_. The kid's frost-colored hair didn't do anything to lessen the effect. The shorter continued.

"But first of all, I believe I said you will address me as 'Hitsugaya'. Not 'kid', not 'shrimp', not 'shorty', or in any form of the familiar. _Hitsugaya_. Secondly, since you obviously haven't done much research before showing up today, I will be acting as Yuki Takahashi in the movie. Now. Do you have any more pointless questions, or may we get this over with?"

As soon as it finished thawing, Ichigo's brain rushed to process the new bit of information. This kid; guy—_Hitsugaya_—was playing Yuki Takahashi…? The teen mulled over the names thoughtfully, knowing they sounded vaguely familiar. He'd never been very diligent with remembering names, but something about the two names together made him feel that they held real significance. Think, Kurosaki. Takahashi, Hitsugaya…Takahashi, Hitsugaya…Takahashi…Hitsugaya…

_Yuki Takahashi, as played by _something_ Hitsugaya…._

No way, had he really forgotten _that_? How was that possible? He'd spent the nights of the restless weeks prior tossing and turning with those names clouding his thoughts. He'd read them as words on a page for days, trying to mentally restrain the nauseating bubble of nerves in his stomach that he was still working to suppress even now. Why did the innocent lettering distress him to the point of uncharacteristic hesitation?

Because in the movie, Akio Morita would be topping Yuki Takahashi.

And in real life, Ichigo would be topping Hitsugaya.

Beneath tanned skin, the blood drained from Ichigo's face, and his eyes widened in something akin to horror. Brown locked on turquoise, shining with regretful realization. Hitsugaya's gaze was flat, though that only served as confirmation.

"You mean you're the one I'm supposed to…" Ichigo noticed he was gaping and, after a moment, his hands flew up to cover the involuntary mortification scrawled all over his countenance. His voice dropped, talking more to himself now. "Fuck! I can't do this. I really…I really signed up for this?"

Kisuke Urahara, whose trained ears had heard even over the current piece's violin, finally chose to answer a question—which was, ironically, rhetorical, but he didn't let that stop him. He held the cursed binding waver above his head with glee. "Yes, you did, Kurosaki-kun."

"And so, seeing as how you've turned in the contract," Hitsugaya elaborated without missing a beat, "you are now obligated to follow through with the requirements. _My_ requirements. And the first thing I _require_ you to do," he continued on sounding bored, still staring at him, "is to strip, Kurosaki."

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><p><em><strong>AN: **__I honestly can't remember how I came up with this idea, but I hope you enjoy my first attempt at serious slash (yaoi)! Farfetched plot, but hey, I find it fun to write. _

_Sorry if this first chapter was a little rushed, and I've written farther than this, but I decided to cut it there and ask for your thoughts before offering a naked Ichigo. I think you all have a basic idea of how this series would play out. So what do you think? Something you'd be interested in reading? Share your thoughts in a review! :D_

_~'Taku786 ^^_


	2. Whataya Want From Me?

_**Summary: **__Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie, _Strictly Business_. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!_

_**Pairings: **__Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings._

_**WARNING: **__Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP)._

_**Disclaimer: **__Tite Kubo is the owner of _Bleach_, and the idea of _Strictly Business_ is purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi)._

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><p><strong>Strictly Business<strong>

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><p>In truth, Ichigo wasn't sure why he suddenly felt like backing out even when he knew doing so was now impossible. And frankly, he was disappointed in himself.<p>

Ever since his mother died eight years ago, Ichigo had learned to take things in stride—whether it was his grades, the weather, or his father's childish behavior and violent wakeup calls. He'd told himself that this job would be no different. He would approach the cast and crew as if _Strictly Business_ was another innocent school play, only much more professional. The people here were humans just like him and had their own lives and reasons for being here; there was no need for him to feel pressured to impress them. And his costar—this "Hitsugaya" guy—would be just another man. Ichigo's family hadn't ever been very religious, so society's claim that his soul would rot for sodomy didn't faze him. He and the male would engage in purely platonic intercourse on film and then go their separate ways, unlikely to ever cross paths again. He wouldn't have to marry Hitsugaya or anything: wouldn't have to love him, or even _like_ him, for that matter, although this whole setup would require a certain level of _tolerance_….He would go in to do what he came to do and leave with his money. Simple, easy, and without any negativity whatsoever. That's what Ichigo had promised himself for weeks.

So what had happened to his confidence?

Really, the answer wasn't all that complicated. Not in his mind anyway.

See, Ichigo had made several attempts to envision Hitsugaya before actually meeting him. Because really, what kind of man would willingly submit himself to an inexperienced seventeen year-old? Ichigo had wondered this. Perhaps Hitsugaya was like himself, just doing this for the money. After all, playing the lead uke in a yaoi film typically earned more than the lead seme—much like females were paid more in hetero films—especially if one was going "gay for pay". It would make sense. But then, Ichigo considered the possibility that Hitsugaya actually sought pleasure. What if the man was the type to get off on being ravished with a camera as a witness? Would Ichigo be able to do his job knowing his counterpart was a pervert? Ichigo had barely contained a shiver when he thought of this. He'd wondered if Hitsugaya was a macho, hair-covered body builder (playing uke very awkwardly), or if he was a metro-sexual pretty boy whom could easily pass for a girl. Was he lanky, or healthily fit, or steroid defined? Or did he have man-boobs? Would he be just as nervous as Ichigo? Or would he actually try to _flirt_ with Ichigo?

Ichigo had had no idea of what to expect, but whatever he'd prospected, it hadn't been _this_ Hitsugaya who, at the moment, wanted him to—

"…strip, Kurosaki."

…take his clothes off.

Ichigo remained silent, his hands still covering his face although their light trembling was already beginning to subside. He focused on breathing steadily as he came to terms with his current situation. He was in what he assumed to be the Director's private lounge. The director, Kisuke Urahara, was also in the room, sipping tea and holding Ichigo's contract. The third occupant was Hitsugaya himself. White-haired, teal-eyed, child-sized Hitsugaya, whom was waiting albeit patiently for Ichigo to fulfill his demand.

To strip.

Ichigo inhaled deeply, unable to easily comprehend that he was expected to _do it_ with somebody who looked close to his sisters' age. But then, he'd just have to accept that fact, wouldn't he? He was doing this to support his family. For Yuzu, Karin, and even Isshin. If he only remembered the fact that this display of ignominy would be for them, he could get through it without completely losing his mind. He would do anything for those important to him…even become a porn star, and this wasn't even that—it was just one film; probably the only acting experience he would ever get it his life, and after the hype over _Strictly Business_ died down, he'd show up years later on one of those "where are they now?" pornography specials. But who really cared about those shows and what happened to the people on them, anyway? He didn't, that's for sure. Ichigo once again exhaled.

Hitsugaya, and Urahara from beneath his hat, watched as Kurosaki dropped his hands and straightened up. His countenance was clear of all previously visible distress and in its place was his signature scowl and eyes that reflected resolve. His chocolate brown eyes locked briefly with Hitsugaya's turquoise ones before they slid from the boy to the man sitting back at the coffee table.

"Um…director?" Ichigo started, searching for the man's gray eyes to meet his gaze. But, as he noticed was the theme, they were overshadowed by his bucket-hat, and Ichigo just ended up glancing off to the side awkwardly. He rubbed his neck subconsciously and continued. "I'm sorry, but you think you could step out a minute? I don't mean to be rude or anything, I just…"

"…I completely understand, Kurosaki-kun." Urahara said, and his voice was low and, well, understanding (Ichigo didn't doubt that he did, considering his earlier display of thought-literacy). He rolled up Ichigo's contract and tucked it somewhere inside his robe before opening his paper fan to hide his expression as he stood and crossed the room. It wasn't until he just passed Ichigo, stopping in the doorway, before he turned to actually look at the two males still standing there. His head tilted back only slightly, but enough for the nearest candlelight to perforate his hat's shadow and reveal a mischievous gleam in his eyes. The fan couldn't hide his grin from Ichigo at this angle. "You kids behave, or I'll have to punish you~"

"…Eh?" Ichigo's response.

"See you at the meeting~"

Ichigo's scowl deepened and he fought down the involuntary blush caused by Urahara's diction. But he reluctantly decided to let it go, as the man was already gone, and instead turned his attention back to the other remaining occupant in the room. Expecting to see Hitsugaya still standing there—staring at him with his arms folded—he was slightly surprised to find that the shorter male was no longer in front of him, but over fiddling with the stereo system. Ichigo had only a moment to realize the room had fallen completely silent for a minute before the strums of a guitar echoed throughout the lounge. A drumbeat soon accompanied, and suddenly the entire atmosphere of the lounge shifted. He wearily watched Hitsugaya as he stood from his crouch and crossed the room to reclaim his original spot on the futon across from Ichigo, thus realizing he hadn't moved an inch since stepping into the room.

Hitsugaya settled into the sofa, folded his legs into the same position Kurosaki had first seen him in, and then propped his left elbow upon the armrest to cradle his cheek with his palm. Teal eyes zoned in on the orangette. The idiot was just…_standing_ there; looking lost. Hitsugaya couldn't help but mentally sigh in neither annoyance nor impatience, but mild exhaustion.

"Well, Kurosaki?" He prompted, but his voice expertly failed to convey any of the tiredness he felt.

Hitsugaya was still waiting for him to start taking off his clothes. Knowing this, Ichigo felt his shoulders tense, but he was quick to silently remind his self of his oath and forcibly relaxed them once again. "R-right…."

Ichigo purposefully looked anywhere but into Hitsugaya's expectant eyes as he slipped out of his candy-apple red jacket. It was far from embarrassing, as it was only his jacket—it fell to the floor with a faint thud—but he didn't want to acknowledge the fact that those blue-green orbs were tracking his every move. His face was set as he continued.

Over head, a voice began to narrate. "_Hey, slow it down. Whataya want from me? __Whataya want from me? __Yeah, I'm afraid. Whataya want from me? __Whataya want from me?"_

Hitsugaya observed as Kurosaki lifted his shirt up, over, and off of his head. The teen did so just as casually and tossed the garment to the floor with his jacket. The white-haired male merely blinked at the upper body now revealed to him, taking a mental photo of the lean but well-built physique. Everything about it—from the neck, to the broad shoulders, to the pectorals, and down his toned abdomen until the peach skin disappeared into his pants—was neither lacking, nor overdone. Hitsugaya was more than used to the sight of shirtless guys, and Kurosaki was only a bit above average: his perfectly sun-humped skin tone giving him those few extra points. But then, the assessment had only just begun.

Ichigo just couldn't get used to the intense stare he'd been receiving ever since the boy laid eyes on him, but he did his best to pretend it was nonexistent as he lifted his feet one at a time to remove his converse and socks. Said shed items joined their predecessors on the ground. Next were his pants. He tried not to think about what he was going as he tugged off the black slacks, he really did. Briefly closing his eyes, he recalled the countless times he'd ever had to change for gym class or undress for bed. He'd never felt embarrassed about taking off his clothes before. Not even in a locker room full of hormone charged teenage boys who, being naturally curious human beings, couldn't help but spare a glance or two down at whomever they were showering next to, almost always resulting in subtle that's-not-my-body-why-am-I-staring-wait-no-way-is -his-larger-than-mine and I'll-act-like-you-weren't-just-ogling-my-cock-hey- could-please-pass-the-soap blushes. (Not even if he'd been unfortunate enough to be stuck next to Keigo Asano, his eccentric friend who absolutely insisted on pointing out how well-endowed Ichigo was without any qualms. He'd known Keigo long enough to be sure that the brunette was straight, so he could never figure out why he continued to express such thoughts loud enough for practically the entire locker room to hear. Ichigo had actually grown use to it, as well as Asano's daily attempts to jump him, but he had no doubt that anybody else would've sued the boy for being too stupid for his own good by now. Actually, when Ichigo thought about it, he seemed to be the only person at school who suffered so much of Asano's harassment on a regular basis. It was kind of weird, Keigo's apparent obsession, but then again, it _was_ Keigo.)

The point was that Ichigo rarely ever felt uncomfortable with his body, no matter the circumstances. And yet…being in the lounge with just Hitsugaya like this—with only his boxers to remove—caused him to begin to question his impeccable resolve. This was where the total awkwardness of the whole situation would become virtually impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, the song went on. "_There might have been a time when I would give myself away; __Oh, once upon a time, I didn't give a damn. __But now, here we are. So whataya want from me? __Whataya want from me?"_

Kurosaki's legs were long, tan, and sinewy: slender, but more than capable of supporting the rest of his body. His feet were proportionate to his height, his calf muscles were defined, and his knees weren't at all knobby. Hitsugaya's gaze continued upward, but their inspection of Kurosaki's lower body was halted by the cuffs of the teen's plain black boxers. His eyes automatically lifted and discovered that Kurosaki was staring back at him, apparently waiting to make eye contact…although he didn't understand why the boy was wasting his time. He was sure that his own eyes were as unreadable as always, and that Kurosaki would only find himself looking at twin walls of oddly colored ice. Seeming to realize this, Kurosaki now heaved a sigh and ran a hand subconsciously through his orange locks, breaking the gaze. Hitsugaya took note of the way the boy's muscles moved during the action.

"Look." Ichigo began, fully aware that Hitsugaya was already doing more than "looking". But he continued. "Could you at least tell me why you want me to strip not even ten minutes after meeting me?"

The question was totally valid and honestly expected, and Hitsugaya didn't see any reason not to answer. He'd been asked the question several times before, after all. "I require every person in your position to do this, Kurosaki."

"But…_why_?" The taller teen inquired.

Hitsugaya shrugged, but it only looked like a tensing of his shoulders to Ichigo. "Because we have to acquaint ourselves with each other's body anyway. I see no point in postponing the matter. So could you please hurry up?"

Ichigo frowned. His right hand, which had been combing his hair, trailed further down the back of his head until he was rubbing the nape of his neck. "I mean sure but…"

"Kurosaki, the quicker you do it, the sooner it will be done and over with."

But when Ichigo sought out and analyzed Hitsugaya's eyes, he spotted none of the potential comforting tone that he'd imagined in the smaller man's voice; just the same bored expression. The same nonchalant expression. The same _nonjudgmental _expression. Ichigo knew he should've felt like Hitsugaya's stare wasn't anything _but _criticizing as it raked over his body, but somehow, he suddenly believed that the boy genuinely _didn't care_. He didn't care that Ichigo was stripping before him in a suggestively dim lit room. He didn't care about Ichigo's unbelievably high levels of discomfort and anxiety. And he didn't care that he'd be submitting himself to Ichigo—a complete stranger who, at the moment, couldn't know less or _care_ less about him. Ichigo wasn't sure whether to feel perturbed by the boy's callous indifference or if he should find reassurance in the fact that no matter what he did, Hitsugaya wouldn't regard him as anything less than a teenager willing to humiliate himself just to support his family. Opting for the latter because it made him feel less pathetic (if only momentarily), Ichigo sighed heavily again, shut his eyes, and gripped the waistband of his boxers.

And the song continued. "_Just don't give up; I'm working it out. __Please don't give in; I won't let you down. __It messed me up: need a second to breathe. __Just keep coming around… __Hey, whataya want from me? Whataya want from me? __Whataya want from me?"_

It's about time, Hitsugaya thought. Sharp, teal eyes narrowed. Outwardly, he was stoically composed as he lounged on the futon, his chilly demeanor never warming nor his air ever decreasing in intimidation. But somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt something stir. The sensation was so miniscule that Hitsugaya could've thought he'd imagined it, but no. He knew it was there because it _always_ began to stir around this point of an assessment, and he even knew what triggered it although nobody else even had a clue that it existed. Anticipation. He could feel the great sleeping dragon crack open its crimson eyes to see exactly what Hitsugaya was seeing, which was Kurosaki's hands: tugging his black undergarments downward.

First to be revealed was the pelvis. Then the masculine swelling of the hips. The narrowing of the "V" beginning at the navel was an arrow pointing to Kurosaki's nether-regions, still obscured by fabric, and Hitsugaya's fingertips twitched against his face. The dragon was awake now, stretching its wings and spreading a tingle of excitement throughout his gut. He knew it was wrong; that he should not be feeling such things. That his interest in potential partners was only piqued when he analyzed their private regions was a perverted fascination worthy of incarceration. But he didn't care: for the feeling stemmed from his constant exposure to situations such as this, and old habits are often the most difficult to break. So Hitsugaya didn't bother fighting the familiar tickle below his own navel as Kurosaki's boxers were shimmied down to the floor, stepped out of, and kicked into the boy's pile of other discarded clothing. Turquoise lenses immediately retraced up Kurosaki's legs, returning to where they left off at the boy's thighs.

_Deliciously tanned_ thighs.

Hitsugaya blinked, remembering that it was not yet time to fully appreciate his counterpart's body. He at least needed to focus until…his gaze _finally_ locked on what lay below Kurosaki's groin. The recognizable heat pooling within him sprouted a sudden need to tug at the collar of his golf shirt, but Hitsugaya was too focused on his opposite's body to act upon the urge.

Even Kurosaki's most confidential area was of a healthy tan hue. Said fact alone caused Hitsugaya to rank the strawberry's genitals above most of the other men's he'd ever worked with. That, coupled with the thickness of the boy's veined length and its apparent strength, even in its flaccid state, marked the boy's package as probably the most impressive Hitsugaya had ever seen. His inner dragon of lust growled in appreciation that it was not disappointed, and he subconsciously licked his lips. Most people would call him sick, but by now he couldn't recall a time when he wasn't possessed by the beast. Hitsugaya's mask of apathy didn't falter even as he tried to imagine what it would be like to touch the organ: to map every contour and burn its natural heat into his memory. To squeeze it just to feel its pulse—as if it were a separate being of its own—and receive grateful praises from its owner in response. To taste it: to trace its shape with his tongue until he knew it by form and flavor. But most doggedly of all, he tried to envision what it would be like for the thing to _fill_ him. To bring him as near to completion as physically possible. _To finally satisfy his insatiable craving for_…something. He didn't know what it was he needed so intensely, but he knew that Kurosaki possibly possessed what he'd been in search of for all this time.

And he was growing aroused just thinking about it.

Ichigo's cheeks burned.

As if it wasn't completely humiliating and degrading enough to bare himself, the white haired kid had to go and completely _eye-rape_ him. He could practically feel those uncaring orbs roving across his skin; dipping into every crevice and tightly hugging every curve of his body. Ichigo couldn't even pretend to listen to the music rocking overhead because for some reason, he couldn't tear his attention away from Hitsugaya's bang, which had suddenly become the most interesting thing in existence. He couldn't think of anything to say or do in response to Hitsugaya's silent survey except stand there and analyze those snow white strands of hair from across the room. Only the male singer spoke, and only the dancing flames of the room's candles moved. So when there was a slight movement just below Ichigo's line of vision, his chocolate eyes had immediately moved to find something else to focus on. He now wished they hadn't, because he'd actually caught the tip of Hitsugaya's moist tongue dragging across his apparently dry lips. As quickly as it appeared though, it vanished, leaving Ichigo's gaze to linger on the boy's mouth.

One of Inoue's fairies (the girl was as childishly imaginative as she was a beautiful goddess) must have poofed in and super-glued Ichigo's eyes to Hitsugaya's lips…because he couldn't look away. They were pale and smooth looking—matching the rest of Hitsugaya's china-like face—and still slightly parted. _Invitingly_ parted. His own creative mind (though significantly limited compared to Inoue's) briefly wondered if it would be possible for Hitsugaya to vacuum his soul in just by inhaling. Even from here, those lips looked too petal-soft to belong to a guy, and it wasn't until Ichigo licked his own lips, wondering if they tasted at all like the burning vanilla-scented candles and _seriously considered finding out_, that he realized he was staring at the mouth of another man.

Mind stuttering to halt along the border of "oops" and "shit", Ichigo tore his gaze in a way that would've surely been painful, had it really been glued to Hitsugaya's face by little fairies. Heat threatening to creep up his neck, he quickly glanced upward to see if the actor had caught him staring. But as it turned out, Hitsugaya was still staring at _him_, and he didn't have to follow the boy's eyes to know he'd be looking down at himself in all his naked glory. He couldn't stop the scarlet blush that visibly stained his cheeks as he realized what that meant: Hitsugaya had licked his lips while looking at Ichigo. No, he wasn't just looking. He was checking him out. And if that lip-wetting-like-Ichigo-was-a-delectable-looking-s trawberry was any indication…

Hitsugaya liked what he saw.

The lyrics pulsing through the air could have been considered a coincidence, if either of them bothered to pay any attention. Which they didn't, really. "_Yeah, it's plain to see that baby, you're beautiful, and there's nothing wrong with you. __It's me; I'm a freak. __But thanks for loving me, 'cause you're doing it perfectly. __Yeah, there might have been a time when I would let you slip away. __I wouldn't even try, but I think you could save my life."_

Ichigo wasn't sure what to feel except utter embarrassment—as he'd felt more in the past hour than he had in his entire lifetime—and his hands instinctively moved to cover his private area. His face took on a scowl of its own volition when the action jarred Hitsugaya out of whatever trance he'd been in and turquoise eyes raised to actually look him in the face. Ichigo was taken aback by the first emotion other than boredom now frosting over those eyes, and he was immediately weary if not a bit disturbed. Hitsugaya's expression nor posture had changed in the slightest, but his eyes revealed more than Ichigo cared to have met head-on; he recognized that smoldering emotion for what it was, no matter how little experience he'd had in romantic relationships. He'd seen it whenever he took Yuzu and Karin window shopping in the mall (against his will) and Yuzu spotted a nice sundress or Karin caught sight of a cool sports jersey, and they refused to look away until Ichigo threatened not to buy them ice cream. He'd seen it whenever Tatsuki crashed at his place and they watched day-long marathons on TV and the champions were awarded with "everything's bigger in Texas" sized belts of gold. He'd seen it whenever Chizuru Honshō, a red-headed lesbian in his class, stared very openly at the chest of one Orihime Inoue, the most lusted-after girl in Karakura High. He'd seen it whenever Keigo was in the presence of anything with two legs and breasts.

Desire. Hitsugaya was looking at him with passionately burning desire.

Ichigo was frozen.

He wasn't vain, but he knew that he was a pretty decent looking guy: Keigo always pointed out the chicks who would stare, especially whenever Ichigo was on the Skins team in a basketball game. (Keigo himself would complain about how sexy Ichigo's bad-boy persona was, as if he could help it, and caused many to once again question his friend's sexuality.) But besides the shameless Keigo, Ichigo couldn't remember ever having been ogled by another guy before, and not even his female admirers had ever looked at him so…_predatorily_; like they were about to pounce, as Hitsugaya looked about ready to just now. Staring into his eyes, Ichigo felt as if the boy was actually trying to lure him in and devour him this time, and the strawberry quickly caught his self before he was compelled forward by the hypnotic irises. Brown eyes shifted anxiously to the kitchenette along the right wall, suddenly feeling very chapped-lipped and wanting something to drink. But he couldn't move—not under Hitsugaya's hawk-like watch.

"Um…" Ichigo stopped to clear his throat, which had curiously run dry, before continuing. "I'm…naked," obviously, "so…now what?" He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer until he realized that he was completely vulnerable to this kid.

Hitsugaya didn't respond. His gaze traveled downward again to where Kurosaki was covering his genitals, as if shielding them from potential attack on Hitsugaya's part. His camera-like lenses traced the teen's hands, noticing their size compared to his penis, and couldn't help but wonder how often the orangette masturbated. His hands certainly looked big enough to get the job done: the perfectly sized hands to bring pleasure to such a beautifully developed member. Hitsugaya wondered how his own smaller and paler hands would compare, wrapped about its circumference, and suddenly didn't want any hands but his own touching Kurosaki—not even Kurosaki's himself. He was breathing significantly faster than just minutes prior, nearly panting, and he could feel the blood rushing to his own growing bulge within the confines of his khakis. He badly wanted to wrap his legs around something, preferably the taller man's waist, but he would settle for doggie style around one of his bare legs if he had to.

He really was sick, wasn't he?

Hitsugaya forced his eyes shut and expertly willed himself to breathe evenly. He had to focus for now, he told himself. There would be plenty of time to enjoy Kurosaki's body later. (Perhaps they could even come back to the lounge after the cast and crew meeting….They'd relight the scented candles, set Adam Lambert's CD on replay, and borrow some toys from Urahara's shop. The make-out session would be on this same futon, the foreplay would be on the cushion-scattered rug, and the main event would be Kurosaki bending him over the coffee table. It would be hard. It would be fast. It would be vulgar. It would be absolutely mind blowing and they'd do it twice, no, three times, and it would be hot and it would be rough and—) No. Hitsugaya squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but Kurosaki's silhouette was etched into the insides of his eyelids. His arousal wasn't diminishing as quickly as it usually did once his object of fascination was out of sight, and it was no wonder. Kurosaki's body was perfect. The red-eyed dragon within him growled insistently, and Hitsugaya couldn't remember the last time his unhealthy addiction had been this provoked. He absently bit his bottom lip, and he was panting. He felt hot. He wanted to be touched. He _needed_ to touch somebody else.

"Kurosaki, come here."

Ichigo frowned. He'd been just about to ask what was wrong, as Hitsugaya hadn't responded and suddenly seemed to start hyperventilating, but the boy's tone revealed no sort of distress; it was just as leveled as before. To say Ichigo was confused and mildly weary would be an understatement.

"Why?" Ichigo asked, quirking an orange eyebrow.

"Just…_come here_."

This time, there was a tangible bit of strain in the smaller male's command. And maybe it was a trick of the dim candlelight nearest Hitsugaya, but Ichigo swore there was something wrong with his childlike face. It…resembled how Yuzu or Karin's would look when they had a fever—flushed. Wait a minute. Was the boy sick? The question kicked his suspicion and lingering embarrassment to the proverbial curb as brotherly instinct was triggered. He crossed the room without further question or complaint, temporarily forgetting that he was supposed to be covering his front in a failed attempt to retain some decency. He did, however, hesitate when he was within arm's reach of the boy, whom was curled up in the corner of the futon. Ichigo couldn't hear Hitsugaya's soft panting beneath the louder music overhead, but there were the tell-tale signs: the quick rising and falling of the small form's shoulders and his slightly parted lips, the bottom of which was being abused by the boy's own teeth.

"Hey…are you okay?" Ichigo asked, forgetting his nakedness and crouching to see his opposite at eye level. He was scowling, but this time out of instinctive concern.

No answer.

Hitsugaya berated himself for allowing his inner turmoil to show, as he was usually the expert at locking away his emotions. And Kurosaki had asked if he was "okay" out of concern. Out of _pity_. He absolutely loathed pity. He didn't like to witness pity, receive pity, or even pity other people. It was a disgusting feeling, to express sadness or regret for another person's suffering yet doing absolutely nothing to help them. It was a shallow, frivolous thing that just kept the bad vibes circulating; made you break down in tears even after coming to terms with whatever misfortune had befallen you or someone you held dear. Pity was stupid. And he really wanted to smack Kurosaki across his gorgeous face.

But his body wanted otherwise. It was burning with unreleased pheromones and itched to tackle the nude Kurosaki to the ground; to bite and touch and lick every exposed inch of the man's being. He wanted to have that perfectly sculpted body heaving with lust beneath him and drenched with sweat above him…to drown in the masculine moans and relish the feminine whimpers. He craved to know if the strawberry tasted like strawberry and if his cream tasted like cream. What a delicious combination; it made him ravenous just thinking about it. His erection strained painfully against the restraints that were his boxers and pants, and he shifted slightly—too subtle for Kurosaki to notice—just to feel the wonderful friction that resulted and caused impossibly more blood to gather and boil throughout the entire lower half of his body. It was so hot, too hot, and he swore that all he needed was to glimpse Kurosaki's naked splendor once more before his dragon took over and oh, how he wanted to give up control of the reigns for just a little while: he knew for certain now that he'd never been so turned on in his life.

But…his eyes were still shut. Kurosaki was kneeling right in front of him (a rather obscene position considering his state of undress) and he couldn't even see it because his _fucking eyes were still closed_. Was he always so slow?

Ichigo was really alarmed now. Hitsugaya's breathing had become ragged and he could actually hear its uneven pattern at this proximity. That, coupled with the fact that Hitsugaya's forehead now glistened with the thinnest layer of sweat, pointed to no other explanation for the sudden behavior than sickness. Damn it, Ichigo thought, quickly getting to his feet and turning to rummage around at the kitchenette. He moved before he noticed a pair of teal eyes peek open, and he was unaware that he was being watched as he located a plastic cup in one of the cabinets and hastily filled it with cold water from the tap. It wasn't until he was once again crouching in front of the boy on the futon, cup of water in hand, that he met the gaze. Feeling fortunate that Hitsugaya was showing signs of consciousness, he offered the refreshment with determination set in his brow and a firm, "Here, drink this."

Still, Hitsugaya didn't respond. He only stared back at Ichigo. The color of his eyes seemed darker than before, and although it could've been because they were hooded by Hitsugaya's eyelids or by the light's angle, Ichigo took it as a sign of a worsening condition. He thrust the cup forward again: the water sloshed a bit inside, but none spilled.

"Go on; it will make you feel better."

_Go on; it will make you feel better. _Hitsugaya blinked. He stared at the water which would offer minimal relief to his type of awful heat, and then at Kurosaki's face which was crowded with the awful sense of pity, and then down at Kurosaki's body where his length was proudly displayed between parted legs in an awfully provocative manner.

And then he pounced.

There was a sound of plastic hitting and water splashing across the wood paneled floor, but it was unheard beneath the music and loud thump as two bodies crashed to the rug.

"Ow, fu…what the hell!" Ichigo hissed and tried to reach back to rub his head where it had suddenly become very friendly with the ground. His brain spun, and he was temporarily stunned, so it wasn't until he tried to do so that he realized he couldn't and remembered how he'd come to be in this position in the first place. Hitsugaya had tackled him. Said boy was now straddling his abdomen and pinning Ichigo down by his wrists, his strength both surprising and pissing off Ichigo, whose pride was already wounded from being taken off guard so easily.

"What the fuck, get…off…of…!"

Ichigo's exclamation trailed off as he stared up at his attacker with wide brown eyes. Hitsugaya was breathing hard, as if he'd just run one of Tatsuki's marathons, and was staring back down at him with the same _lust-filled gaze_ as before. Ichigo was once again paralyzed as he became painfully aware of their position: he was naked, trapped on the floor beneath Hitsugaya's trembling frame; Hitsugaya was pinning him down, looking absolutely…_hungry_. Ichigo could feel his heart thudding heavily in his chest, but the feeling wasn't nearly as vivid as the telltale hardness pressing into his stomach.

Also known as Hitsugaya's erection.

Dear.

God.

Help me, Ichigo pleaded silently. He wanted to move. He _had_ to move. But he'd made the mistake of looking into Hitsugaya's eyes, and now he was truly stuck gazing through the boy's windows to his soul. Even if he did muster up the strength to escape, that childlike face wouldn't allow Ichigo to cause any harm to his undersized molester; he was too sentimental, and although the boy was displaying the strength of a man, his stature was that of child, thus just as fragile. How old _was _Hitsugaya anyway? Surely not old enough to harbor such a passionate expression. Not old enough to be assigned as Ichigo's uke in _Strictly Business_. And definitely not old enough to be…wait, what was he…?

Hitsugaya closed his eyes just before they rolled to the back of his head in ecstasy. So good…Kurosaki tasted _so good_. Hitsugaya had dipped his head just to sample a bit of the wondrous skin bared to him, but once he had a taste, he had to go back for another just to make sure the flavor was constant. He'd licked Kurosaki's collar bone—Kurosaki, whom didn't taste like strawberries at all. It was slightly salty with dried sweat (it must have been hot under that red jacket) which should have been gross, but to Hitsugaya, it was rather heavenly; not so different from those giant pretzels they sell at the fair (The ones you dip in nacho cheese, he thought, then proceeded to imagine licking melted cheese off Kurosaki's hot skin). He licked the same spot over and over again, his tongue warm and moist, and the tang of salt faded until he was just licking Kurosaki for the sensation of finally doing so. But his head inevitably shifted a bit in his ministrations, and the salty taste of the skin outside his tongue's previous perimeter sent Hitsugaya's mouth exploring.

Ichigo was in shock: he couldn't even move his head, and he found his vision obscured by gravity defying tufts of white that smelled faintly like the vanilla-scented candles. They shifted as Hitsugaya moved his head, ever so slowly making his way up the right side of Ichigo's neck. Ichigo could feel the velvety softness of Hitsugaya's tongue, stroking him in long, thoughtful licks as if Ichigo was melted ice cream dripping down the side of a cone. He could feel Hitsugaya's hot breath ghosting over his moist skin whenever his tongue wasn't in contact, and it would have made Ichigo shiver if—no wait, he just did. This was too wrong.

"Hey." Ichigo began, wanting to sound stern, but his vocal chords betrayed him and his voice was soft, as if he didn't want to scare Hitsugaya away; like the boy was some kind of small animal. He tried again. "Hey, you need to st—ah. _Ah_…"

Hitsugaya had reached the vulnerable junction between Ichigo's neck and jaw. Somewhere behind the sudden tingle of pleasure, Ichigo knew it shouldn't have felt as amazing as it did; that he needed to stop this _now_, but…

Hitsugaya noticed the bigger male's reaction and felt the urge to smirk, but his mouth was preoccupied. Yes. This was what he'd been waiting for. The junction was the softest part of Kurosaki's otherwise sturdy neck, and it was the only place on his partners' body that Hitsugaya actually took his time to nurture because he understood how utterly sensitive the lymph nodes there were. Hitsugaya caressed the smooth pad of skin with his tongue, eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the rare act of gentleness, and listened to Kurosaki's breathing hitch. When the taste of salt was gone, the white haired closed his lips around the area and sucked lightly, but left his teeth out of it. He wouldn't mark the magnificent body just yet—especially not the particular spot of which he'd grown fond, and especially not when he received such an appreciative hum from below. He could feel the rhythmic pulse of the nerves—of a heartbeat—beneath his lips and it satiated something in Hitsugaya's chest. But then, Hitsugaya's more prominent craving still hadn't been satisfied, and he released Kurosaki's captive wrists in favor of tracing up the toned pair of arms while he continued to care for the boy's sweet spot.

Ichigo couldn't even scold himself for letting the sound slip; he was enjoying it too much. He didn't even take the opportunity, once he felt his wrists released, to throw the smaller man off of him. Hitsugaya obviously possessed more experience than any child could possibly have, what with the way he was sucking all of Ichigo's common sense out from that special point on his neck, which he hadn't even known existed before now. Through the pretty, white haze that had mysteriously settled over his logical thoughts, he could feel two hands traveling up his arms, over his shoulders, and back down to his chest, tracing every dip and curve of the muscles he worked three times a week at the gym to achieve. It was odd, the combined sensation of appreciation and craving that he was receiving from those hands. As if the body still straddling him wanted nothing more than to touch and feel and take Ichigo's in all at once. But Ichigo didn't mind. Hands trailed down and up and across and back again, as if Ichigo's entire body was a sheet of brail that Hitsugaya desired to read and decipher and memorize and read again, already knowing what the next word would be.

Hitsugaya was finally getting what he wanted, and Kurosaki was still distracted by the most skillful tongue and petal soft lips working at his jaw line. So when Hitsugaya felt a vibration in his pocket (which sent a jolt of pleasure to his erection, considering their close proximity in his pants), his logical mind, which had disappeared long before Kurosaki's, was slow to catch up. He was distantly reminded that he'd set his alarm for the meeting so as to not be late. But…why? Why was he still _this hot_? Sure, he hadn't gone anywhere near his ultimate prize yet, but then, he hadn't really been planning to. This was only an assessment; the time for his hands to wander _innocently_….

Okay, so maybe he _had_ thought he'd be able to "survey" further. Maybe if Kurosaki hadn't taken so long to strip…No, no, he wouldn't be ungrateful. He'd had a taste of Kurosaki's presence, and at least he was now sure that it was the most intoxicating he'd ever sampled. He was still agonizingly hard, but then, he was used to being left unfulfilled. Sighing inwardly as logical thought and reasoning forced their return into his snow-crowned head, Hitsugaya forced his hands to slow in their frantic movements before stopping altogether, settling them between his legs: on Kurosaki's abdomen. He reluctantly released the boy's beautifully tanned skin from his mouth and instead moved to speak into his ear.

Ichigo was initially disappointed when the sensations stopped and even considered asking his opposite to continue. He was pleasantly surprised when the hot breath bore down on his ear as he began to descend from his high, and he shivered lightly, also never realizing how sensitive the hearing organ was. He was borderline panting and finally noticed the familiar heat pooling at his groin, as well as how good the pressure of a body sitting on him down there felt. He was aroused. But something in the back of his mind was howling for his attention, and he didn't know what it was, but it was urgent enough to cut through the fog that had settled over his brain. There was something big; something important and conspicuously obvious that he was just way too dense to notice.

Something that became painfully clear as soon as the _masculine_ voice—in a _bored_ tone, coming from the "most skillful tongue and petal soft lips" of the _male_ body that was the cold-eyed _Hitsugaya_, "sitting on him down there" while he was nakedly aroused—said,

"I approve."

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><p><em><strong>AN: **__Whew! Longest chapter I've ever written for FanFiction (fortunately, I actually hand wrote about half of the chapter before typing), and I'm rubbing my neck like Ichigo does because I've been hunched over the keyboard for the past...I don't even know. Didn't play out like I'd originally thought it would, but I guess that's what authors mean when they say "the story wrote itself"._

_Yes, yes, I know; nymphomaniac Hitsugaya is totally OC, but hey, it's fun to write, plus it ties into the storyline. How did I do for my first ever shot at mild sensuality? Constructive criticism please! And about the small pity bit…Have you ever been in a tough spot, but you tell yourself "I won't cry" or "I'm done crying", then along comes some inconsiderate-who-thinks-s/he-can-help-or-at-least -wants-to-but-only-makes-it-worse who asks you "what's wrong" or something like that, and THEN you start bawling your eyes out? I hate that._

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed! The lyrics are from Adam Lambert's "Whataya Want from Me". (For those of you who don't know, he's a smexy-gay-guy-whom-everyone-agrees-is-still-smexy- even-though-he's-gay, and I'll be using more of his songs. So, I. Do. Not. Own.) I'm as addicted to reviews as Hitsugaya is to penis, so drop me one! _

…_Did I really just say that? _

…_Yes, yes, I believe I did and I also believe that I won't change it._

_~'Taku786 ^^_


	3. I Caught Myself

_**Summary: **__Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie, _Strictly Business_. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!_

_**Pairings: **__Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings._

_**WARNING: **__Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP)._

_**Disclaimer: **__Tite Kubo is the owner of _Bleach_, and the idea of _Strictly Business_ is purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi)._

* * *

><p><strong>Strictly Business<strong>

* * *

><p>Ichigo had been molested.<p>

By a boy.

And he'd been enjoying it.

The weight of the small body sitting so close to his growing erection was impossible to ignore, and despite his body's apparent appreciation, Ichigo himself felt sick. He felt sick because he should not have wanted the pressure to be shifted lower, but he did. He should not have wanted those suddenly too feminine seeming hands to wander further south than his stomach, but he did. He should not have wanted that tongue to resume its magical dance on his neck, but he did. He should not have wanted his fingers to explore the white tresses in his peripheral, but he did. He should not have wanted to listen to the panting in his ear all day, but he did. And he should not have been so intrigued but the pulsing heat warming his abs, but he was.

He felt dirty.

Even though it wasn't his fault—or was it? Was _he_ at fault, for not stopping Hitsugaya's advances much sooner? For being swept away as he was by the pleasurable alien sensations that had clouded his conscience? For not being man enough to get over his sentimental mentality and for not throwing the smaller, fragile body across the room? For _so easily_ accepting the fact that situations like this one were expected of them now, would be for a while, and would be _okay_?

"_I approve."_ That was what Hitsugaya had just said. He approved. As if jumping people was simply a way to decide whether they qualified for the job.

Another heat (anger? disgust?) suddenly coursed through Ichigo's veins, flushing out the more pleasant heat of newborn lust and effectively killing the latter. It melted the invisible chains that had mysteriously shackled the teen's wrists to the floor, and his hands flew up and under Hitsugaya to roughly push the boy away. Hitsugaya did not resist and sat up, having said what he had to say, and Ichigo could finally say what _he_ had to.

The only reason he'd been so open-minded about this whole deal was because he'd been so sure that he wouldn't be turned on by a man. When the time would come for him to arouse himself, he'd planned to do what any average guy usually did; fantasize about being with the most attractive girl he knew. But just now, Inoue's face was not what he'd been thinking about; it was Hitsugaya's tongue that had done the trick, and for the second time that day, he'd betrayed his self. Still, it was a lot easier to direct that frustration at Hitsugaya, who'd managed to take him off guard so easily, than to agonize over his own sexuality.

"Mind telling me what the hell that was about just now?" Ichigo demanded. Now that his mind was clear, his voice was back.

Hitsugaya blinked, trying to refocus on Kurosaki's face. Despite being able to once again think with his bigger head, his need was still pressed closely against the strawberry's body, and it tested his regained control. It was only with the years of practice that he managed to speak evenly as he replied, "I already told you. I assess every person in your position, Kurosaki."

"What kind of 'assessment' involves molesting people?" Kurosaki asked, scowling. "You can't just attack everybody you meet like that."

"I did not 'attack' you." Hitsugaya scowled as well. His doctor often told him the same thing, and it had begun to annoy him. It's not like there was a cure for his addiction…at least, not that he knew of. "And I had assumed that Urahara warned you about the compatibility tests we perform here."

"…The hell are you talking about?" Dumbly, Kurosaki looked up at him.

"I already told you we'll have to get to know each other's body." Hitsugaya said, and his erection throbbed dully, but he ignored it. Or at least tried to. "The cast members here are given enough time to familiarize themselves with their assigned partners, so that there is minimal discomfort on set. It always begins with the initial assessment, and because of your…unique contract, your say does not matter right now.

"I have given you my approval. So you are now, officially, considered my co-star."

Ichigo was quiet; still. And then suddenly, he sat up, nearly head butting Hitsugaya, who was consequentially in his lap now—his legs unfolded and settled around Ichigo's waist. He grabbed the collar of the boy's golf shirt. "What do you mean my say does not matter?" he demanded. "Urahara told _me_ that I wouldn't be forced to do anything I didn't want to do."

"'Anything you couldn't handle…'"

"What?"

The boy had squeezed his eyes shut and flinched when Ichigo grabbed his collar. When he spoke, Ichigo could barely hear the strained whisper. "What did you say?" Ichigo asked firmly, pulling Hitsugaya an inch closer to hear him better (not because he enjoyed having the boy's face so close). But Hitsugaya cringed as if Ichigo had hurt him, or was going to. He mouthed something else but again, Ichigo couldn't understand. "What?"

"I said_ let go of me_!" It was not quite a whimper, but it was certainly a lot like a stressed plea.

Ichigo blinked, feeling a small pang of guilt: Hitsugaya was just a kid after all (or so he thought), and Ichigo would never harm a child intentionally.

"I'm not…going to hurt you." Ichigo said in a hesitantly softer tone, loosening his grip on Hitsugaya's shirt. He tried not to consider how long that claim would hold true, for surely having sex (he almost cringed at the thought) would involve some pain for the smaller male. But even then, Ichigo would try to be gentle. Despite the reassurance, though, the pained expression remained on the white haired male's face. Ichigo was confused by this and removed his hand, accidentally brushing Hitsugaya's neck, which was exposed by the shirt collar's design. "Didn't you hear me? I said I—"

Hitsugaya suddenly gasped.

In this provoked state, every inch of Hitsugaya's body was hypersensitive, his bare skin highly receptive. When Kurosaki had sat up, Hitsugaya's erection was once again sandwiched in between their bodies, except impossibly closer in this new position. He'd been dangling by the last few strands of good judgment (it was such a _wonderful_ sensation…) when Kurosaki did the worst thing possible and made contact with his already-sensitive neck. Just minutes after regaining access to it, Hitsugaya's conscience was involuntarily shot to Hell once more. As were any concerns about being late for the meeting.

Hitsugaya's hands raced up to grip Kurosaki's naked shoulders. He leaned his head forward, panting, and rested it against the orangette's collarbone. Of their own volition, his petite hips rolled and his hardness was grinded against the larger male's body.

Sweet, _sweet_ friction. Liquid fire in his groin.

"Nngh—!"

The trapped moan ached in the back of his throat. This was exactly what he had hoped wouldn't happen. What he'd been advised to avoid. But at the same time, it was exactly what he wanted. _Yes_. He _needed_ this. He needed more. He pressed forward again, harder this time, crushing his member between their bodies in a way that surely would've been painful to anyone else. But to him, "Ah…" it felt…it felt…

"A-ah~!"

The third time, he raised his head and arched his back into the strawberry's solid form, gripping the broad shoulders tighter; more desperately. It was so _hot_. He was going to explode. If Kurosaki didn't take him now…if he didn't take him now…

He couldn't think as he grinded against the man again. _Mmm…_ The dragon was _very_ happy.

Ichigo could only gape. Just tying Hitsugaya's gasps and rumbling moans together with the shifting pressure he felt around his waist, Ichigo struggled to accept the fact that Hitsugaya was…basically humping him. It should have repulsed him. It would happen repulsed him…if only Hitsugaya hadn't chose that moment to raise his head, and Ichigo was given a shocking view of his face.

Hitsugaya's pale skin was flushed, and Ichigo had only seen such a deep color a few times in his father's clinic—a fatal fever. Hitsugaya's lips were parted, the source of the boy's panted "hah"s, and they looked strangely edible, and Ichigo was made aware of just how close the boy's face was. Hitsugaya's eyes were hooded and framed by long, thick black eyelashes that Ichigo had never seen before, not even on a girl, and this time he had no doubt that the teal color was darkened with lust. With need. Ichigo suddenly wanted to tell Hitsugaya right then that he possessed very beautiful eyes…and that as the highlight of the boy's face, his expression as a whole was very alluring….

The strawberry felt two legs constrict again around his waist, accompanied by the sound of Hitsugaya's sharp intake of breath, and Ichigo suddenly wasn't sure if he should really stop the actor. The grip on his shoulders seemed too desperate, as did Hitsugaya's entire appearance scream the word, and Ichigo got the impression that even if he _tried_ to pry Hitsugaya off of him, the boy would cling to him with that same silent plea. If he spoke, Hitsugaya probably wouldn't even hear him. Ichigo couldn't help but feel that, by putting himself in this position, he'd pretty much invited Hitsugaya to do what he was doing now. This was his fault: it was his fault that Hitsugaya was panting and looking at him so seductively.

It was his fault that he was being aroused again by the friction of Hitsugaya's bottom on his penis.

"Ku…nn…Kurosaki…" Hitsugaya couldn't hold in the moan this time. He felt _it_, just barely poking against his clothed entrance, and he badly wanted to impale himself on it _right now_. He grinded against Kurosaki, biting his bottom lip to contain the rising mewls of pleasure, and wrapped his arms around the orangette's shoulders to pull him ever-closer. _Oh…nn…nnn!_

Ichigo barely breathed. No, this was not happening. This wasn't turning him on. He was not feeling a bit tingly from the way Hitsugaya drawled his name, the way his heat scraped teasingly over his…oh god, why wasn't he stopping this?

Hitsugaya's face was by his ear now, and he could hear clear the small sounds that were suspiciously like a begging kitten. Ichigo swallowed, unable to stop the blush and unable to think of anything that he could say or do in response. His hands were useless, hovering by Hitsugaya's sides as his mind wanted to throw the boy off while his body wanted to push up against the tempting heat of the boy's bum. He was not gay, damn it, he was not gay. He was not attracted to men; he was not attracted to this boy. Hitsugaya's smaller body should not have fit so well around his.

Maybe, if Ichigo just stayed very still and very quiet, this would all go away. That's what he told himself. But Hitsugaya's raping of his stomach was all too vivid, and for the second time that day, his body was betraying him by reacting to Hitsugaya's administrations.

"Is this also a part of the…initial assessment?" Ichigo wondered aloud with forced apathy, berating himself for the involuntary erection.

Hitsugaya only arched further and cried out in response. He was too lost in the heat and the sensation and the sheer ecstasy of having this perfectly perfect body as his newest…humping post. (_And the friction…oh yes_, _the friction…_He hissed.)

So Ichigo knew right away that the voice was not from the boy so far gone in his lap.

"Um…excuse me?"

Ichigo flinched. Hitsugaya, who didn't seem to notice, kept on pleasuring himself against the strawberry. But Ichigo had clearly heard what sounded like a little girl's voice coming from behind him, and he immediately craned his head to the left to look over his shoulder—still all too aware of his growing desire.

Shit. Holy. Fucking._ Shit_.

Standing there in the _open_ doorway of the lounge was a girl who couldn't be that much older than Karin. Her long black hair was parted down the middle with an odd sort of bang splitting her face in half at the bridge of her nose. She wore a white t-shirt and a pink and white polka-dotted skirt that reached to her knees, along with sandals on her feet. She was holding something in her hands, but Ichigo was too distracted by her sad looking purple eyes to notice what is was.

Those eyes. They were looking at him and Hitsugaya, one dry-humping the other, who was stark naked.

Ichigo's mind raced and he anxiously grabbed Hitsugaya's waist, stilling the male's movements none too gently and earning a half-pained, half-annoyed whine. Ichigo ignored him, suddenly even more sick than what he'd felt before. "We can…" he started, panic-eyed. "I can explain. We…this isn't what it looks like!"

What it looked like: Ichigo with his hands on Hitsugaya's waist. Ichigo nude, Hitsugaya clothed. Hitsugaya, wrapped around Ichigo, somehow more obviously aroused than Ichigo, whose erection was out for the world to see. Ichigo, making no move to throw off the smaller boy even though he was clearly stronger; Ichigo _allowing_ this.

It was exactly what it looked like.

"We weren't…I mean, I wasn't doing anything!" Ichigo quickly assured the girl, and how pathetically true it was. "He was…we were…look; this is just a big misunderstanding. You have to understand this isn't …uh…!"

The girl just stared at Ichigo with that sad expression.

Ichigo's heart pounded, knowing he must've scarred the girl. What did he look like, a big seventeen year old in this position with a boy who had to be her age? A pervert, that's what. No matter what he rightfully accused Hitsugaya of, _he_ would be the one labeled as a pedophile when taken to court. _He_ would be the one facing charges and probably thrown in jail for life for being an alleged menace to society who preyed on small, unsuspecting children. _He_ would, from then on, be considered the big brother and son who suddenly went bad and roamed the streets and oh how horrible and how could this have happened. _He_ would be the one to let down his loved ones to whom he'd sworn his life to protect. All because nobody would believe that Hitsugaya could possess such a libido.

Said white haired boy blinked blearily, wondering why the rush had stopped and cursing whoever dared to interrupt his much needed relief. Turquoise eyes wandered lazily, looking for something through the fog to focus on, before he felt the rumble in the throat pressed against his ear. The strawberry…Kurosaki…he was speaking. Hitsugaya hummed in recognition and nuzzled the teen's neck, trying to move against his body again. The man's large hands felt rather nice holding his waist like that…. Kurosaki's head was turned away, thus giving Hitsugaya perfect access to mouth his neck.

"Damn it, would you stop that?" Ichigo all but shrieked, briefly turning his attention back to the _very_ horny Hitsugaya, who was _not_ making this situation better seeming at all.

The girl also turned her attention to the actor, who was facing her. She could feel the familiar energy rolling off of him in waves, but it was much, much stronger than what she'd ever remembered it being. It was a good thing her boss had sent her when he did.

"Sorry to interrupt, Hitsugaya-san." The girl said timidly, not entirely sure if he was even aware of her presence or not. "But Urahara-san thought it was a good time to give you your candy. He said to remind you about the cast meeting."

Ichigo craned his neck around to look at her again, wishing Hitsugaya would stop and yet loving the tickle at the same time. Simultaneously, she turned her eyes back to him, and eye contact was reestablished. Despite the heat being shared between Hitsugaya and him, he felt goose-bumps rise on his arms and he was afraid that the girl would now run away screaming _rape_…

Instead, she bowed. "You must be Kurosaki-san. My name is Ururu." She introduced in the same meek voice. "Please make sure Hitsugaya-san eats this; it will calm him down." And with that, she entered the room, approaching the two who were in such a suggestive position. She didn't even seem to notice that Ichigo was completely naked as she set something down beside him on the rug. Then, she turned her head and smiled sadly at Ichigo, who was gaping at her incredulously, before straightening up and calmly exiting the room.

Ichigo was thrown. What had just happened? Something about candy…? He glanced down at what the girl—Ururu?—had set down beside him. It was a glass jar. Sticking out of the jar was a bouquet of, what appeared to be, several odd looking shapes on sticks. It wasn't until Hitsugaya stroked him with his tongue that he put two and two together and realized the things were lollipops. Urahara had sent something else for the actor to lick on. _Thank you!_

Before he allowed himself to once again fall victim to Hitsugaya's talent, Ichigo shoved his hands in between them and pushed the boy to gain _some_ sort of distance. Hitsugaya blinked in obvious confusion and mild irritation, unwilling to completely let go of the former. Ichigo reached down to pluck up one of the lollipops and held it up between their faces in one hand, keeping Hitsugaya back with the other. This lollipop was ironically shaped like an upside-down strawberry, but Ichigo was too focused to bother to choose another.

Hitsugaya blinked again, his eyes still hooded and dark. The heat had made its way to his brain, making everything seem warm and fuzzy, and all he comprehended was the seventeen year-old's face so close and blushing. Hitsugaya licked his lips, remembering the taste of the bare skin pressed up against his body, and he very much wanted to eat Kurosaki's face…but when he tried to lean forward to do so, he couldn't move. Something was pushing on his chest, preventing him from closing that small gap, and he was distantly annoyed. He made a sound of protest and thrust his hips again, turning the small whine into a content hum. But then that weight was pushing against his chest again.

"No." Ichigo said firmly; simply. He couldn't help that Hitsugaya looked every bit as much as a needy kitten and unconsciously made him want to treat the smaller as such. He waved the lollipop in Hitsugaya's face. "Look. Here, see?"

In his high, Hitsugaya went crossed eyed as he tried to make sense of the vaguely familiar shape between his and Kurosaki's face. Typically, he wouldn't have cared. But if this man wouldn't let him have what he wanted until he focused on the thing, well…

Still, Ichigo could see that the white-haired didn't get it. He sighed. It looked like he had to take the pet approach after all. "Treat," he said, waving the lollipop again. "You, eat. See?" and he licked the red candy once himself. "Now you." He truly felt idiotic.

But apparently the notion of licking was a trigger and Hitsugaya slowly but obediently did as he was told. The taste was…different than that of the strawberry he'd been licking. This actually tasted like strawberry. It was familiar nonetheless and offered something for his tongue to do, so he happily lapped at the candy, a kitten indeed.

Ichigo's shoulders sagged in relief as, the more Hitsugaya licked at the candy, the arms around his shoulders slackened. Pale hands un-snaked from around Ichigo's neck and Hitsugaya took the lollipop for himself, sucking on it with a growing concentration. The legs clenched so tightly around Ichigo's waist gradually relaxed as well, and Ichigo could still feel the heat of Hitsugaya's erection, but at least it was no longer flush up against his bare abdomen. The teen felt his own painfully hard erection, though, and thought that maybe watching Hitsugaya closely as he sucked on the lollipop wasn't such a good idea.

The medicine was already starting to kick in: Hitsugaya suddenly found that he didn't feel as free and blissful anymore. The chemicals counteracted against the pleasurable hormones of lust, and they seemed to freeze the hot blood that coursed to his erection, stopping the flames in their path. Hitsugaya blinked, wondering why he couldn't see anything lucidly, and his scowl slowly returned. He was…uncomfortable. He was too hot, and with the poison in his system, it was not a welcomed heat. He wanted to get away from it but…something was holding him in place. He felt trapped. He just couldn't figure it out, and all too quickly, he'd finished the lollipop. He withdrew the thin stick from his mouth and reached blindly for another, but he didn't know where they were. Did he usually need more than one?

Ichigo noticed the way Hitsugaya's panting had, miraculously, all but stopped, and he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or mourn its absence. The boy's eyes were beginning to look more focused, but they darted about, as if he was looking for something. Ichigo, taking a wild guess, reached for another lollipop and offered it. This one was a simple sphere with swirls of orange and white. "Here."

Hitsugaya, more quickly this time, accepted the candy and went to sucking on it. It tasted like orange and cream sherbet, smooth on his tongue. The drug took effect even sooner this time, and his eyes hurt as his vision returned with startling clarity. He finally realized why he felt trapped. He scowled deeper, eyebrows furrowing.

"Why are you so close, Kurosaki?"

"Huh? Oh, because…" Ichigo frowned and thought about the annoyed question. It took all of five seconds for it to dawn on him: "Wait, what? You…! You were the one who was...!" he couldn't even form a coherent exclamation.

He was embarrassed, mostly, and slightly angry at himself. He thought about what that girl had said, about how Urahara had sent her with the "candy"—the candy that was obviously responsible for Hitsugaya's sudden mood change—and wondered what he would have done if she hadn't shown up. Would he have just let the smaller male do whatever he pleased simply because he couldn't deny that pleading expression? Would he have just given in and actually enjoyed himself, since apparently what _he_ wanted didn't matter? Would they have both ended up naked, one thing leading to another and then…?

"Calm down, Kurosaki. The assessment is finished." Hitsugaya sighed heavily and moved to stand even as he spoke. Kurosaki looked positively horrified. With the medicine doing what it was created to do, Hitsugaya could truly think clearly for the first time since Kurosaki began to strip (even when, ironically, he was this close to the naked strawberry).The dragon was suddenly unnaturally docile, and as usual, Hitsugaya felt empty now that his hunger was sedated.

He felt nothing.

Ichigo was frozen as Hitsugaya moved, putting his hands on his shoulders. But the smaller simply used him as support to get to his feet, not even looking at him as he bent to retrieve the jar of lollipops and kept walking. As soon as Ichigo caught up, he twisted his upper body just in time to see Hitsugaya reach the door.

"Hey, wait a second. Where are you going?" He was wide eyed, still paranoid about Ururu bringing back the police. Plus, how could Hitsugaya just…just _leave_ after what just happened?

"To the meeting," Hitsugaya said evenly, pausing in the doorway but not looking back. "As you should be. Put your clothes on, Kurosaki, and be in the conference room in ten minutes."

With that, he left. Ichigo almost considered going after him, asking if the kid was legally bipolar, but then his words sunk in and Ichigo was scrambling to get his clothes back on. He scowled at his lingering erection, which wasn't disappearing nearly as quickly as he'd hoped. His mind unhelpfully replayed the whole ordeal, which began with the kid pouncing on him, and he was reminded about the spilled water. Sighing tiredly, he went to find something to mop up the mess, once again wondering why he'd taken this job.

Oh yeah. The money.

* * *

><p>The conference room was impressive. The four walls were painted white and the carpet was black, reminding Ichigo of the hallway leading to Urahara's shop. The eggshell-white table at the center of the room was long and T-shaped, a black line running along the center to emphasize the "T". The chairs around the table had curved backs and were the same off-white with black embroidery. Similarly designed chairs lined the perimeter of the room. The only colors that popped out, besides the clothing of the people in the room, were the large framed posters of previously released movies, and the bright red love seat that popped out from the corner. But most striking of all was the completely glass ceiling, illuminating the reflective white walls with ten o'clock sunshine.<p>

Ichigo hesitated in the doorway, feeling more than slightly uncomfortable, but nobody seemed to know he existed. He couldn't tell how many people were in the room or how many seats there were, and he wasn't sure where he was supposed to sit. He just prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn't end up next to Hitsugaya. His brown eyes scanned the room, searching for the unmistakable white of the boy's hair, and he thought he'd found it a few times, but it was only the white walls in his periphery. Where was the kid?

"Hey, it's the kid!"

Ichigo turned his head just before he was caught in a headlock, "ack!", and he couldn't tell who the perpetrator was. But he found himself staring down at a pair of lightweight brown shoes.

"So you decided to show up, huh? I knew you would." Ichigo slowly recognized the powerful feminine voice as a hand ruffled his orange hair without mercy. Surprisingly, he didn't struggle. "How'd you like the assessment?" the female continued, sounding amused. "I heard Hitsugaya needed a _jar_ of lollipops this time. Man, that kid is hopeless."

"Uh…Hi, Shihouin-san." Ichigo greeted halfheartedly, trying to mask his hurt pride. First a child, and now a woman: his nature prevented him from defending himself against either of them. Was he a punk? "Um…could I please have my head back?"

"Not unless you drop the formal crap." The woman said, suddenly very serious and mildly annoyed. "I told you before to call me Yoruichi."

"R…right. Yoruichi. Could I have my head back?"

Yoruichi Shihouin grinned and immediately relinquished her shockingly strong grip on the teen's neck. Ichigo straightened up and rubbed it, wincing at how much stiffer the muscles were. (He really wished this day was over so that he could take a long, hot shower and go to bed. He hadn't gotten much sleep lately, and the stress was piling up to become too heavy of a load on his shoulders.) Then Ichigo turned to see the woman properly.

She, like Urahara, had undergone a major costume change since seeing her at the interview. Instead of an intimidating yet very sophisticated and chic business suit of all black, she now sported an eye-catching orange shirt over a black undershirt. There were two white straps on each of her shoulders, a large beige sash around her waist, and matching wrist and leg warmers tied with purple straps. She wore black stretch pants, and altogether looked like some kind of stealth squad leader (especially with the way she'd just surprised Ichigo). Yoruichi was actually a very beautiful woman whose melanin was that of a queen or goddess; her long, pony-tailed hair was the royal color purple, and her eyes were bright gold. Her figure was also something to be noted.

Not wanting to be accused of checking her out, as he had been with Urahara, Ichigo quickly returned his gaze to her face. She was still grinning like the Cheshire cat with a knowing twinkle in her eye. But Ichigo wasn't sure if she'd caught his wandering eyes, or if she was anticipating the answer to her previous question: how did he like the assessment?

"The…_assessment_…" Ichigo rubbed the back of his head, looking somewhere down the hall to avoid eye contact as he answered in the most controlled way he knew how. "It was…it was _different_…."

Yoruichi scrutinized him then, perhaps noticing the slight blush that he was fighting so hard to keep down as he felt the ghost of Hitsugaya's breath on his neck. Then she laughed—a hearty sound. She clapped him on the back, fortunately snapping out of his reverie. "Well, different is good. Would've been worried if _he_ couldn't loosen you up."

"What do you mean?"

"Hey, Grimmjow!" Yoruichi called loudly, suddenly switching her attention to the bustling in the room. Ichigo felt annoyed at being ignored, but was then mildly curious when Yoruichi mutter-shouted, "Where is that pussy cat? Grimmjow! Where's my money?"

"What?" was the equally loud response from somewhere in the crowd easily heard over the other noise. "Bitch! I don't owe you jack!"

Yoruichi snapped toward the sound, as did Ichigo when a shock of powder blue hair appeared. The man was leaning precariously back in his chair, sneering at Yoruichi from across the room through a gap in bodies.

"Don't give me that, Jaeger_jaquez_." Yoruichi reproached, moving to cross the room. "I warned you not to play games with me. Now pay up."

"Look lady," Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez leered. "If you ask me, that game was rigged. You all are always framing me! I mean I know I'm one irresistible ass but…"

"Oh, shut up, idiot." Somebody else spoke up. A guy. "You still owe me from last week!"

"And me from a month ago!" Another guy. A few more spoke up after him.

"Oi!" Grimmjow shouted at them all. "You all can shut up and suck it, okay? 'Cause you know you want to. Now get off my…hey!"

Yoruichi truly was some kind of ninja: she'd pick-pocketed the bluenette for his wallet and was now shuffling through a wad of banknotes. "Hm," she said curiously, smiling wickedly. "It seems you've been around a bit since I last checked. Where'd you go last night, fur ball? I'll have to come next time."

Grimmjow slammed his chair back down on the ground and jumped out of it, lunging at Yoruichi for his money. People were getting out of the way of the blue fury, and Ichigo could now see what the guy was wearing. Deep blue jeans emphasized his long legs and, over a cream button up whose undone top buttons revealed a tan chest, he wore a black and gold jacket ornamented by various patches. His sleeves were pushed up to bare his forearms, and on his feet were deep brown loafers. Ichigo was sure that the man worked each morning to gel his hair in that intricately wavy way, and to apply the green marks just beneath his eyes like so. With his appearance and current behavior, which reminded Ichigo of his friends at school, Grimmjow came off as a guy to be weary of.

But that didn't deter the fearless Yoruichi, who now effortlessly leapt up onto the conference table to get out of Grimmjow's reach, holding the wallet high above her head.

"What is it with you men?" Yoruichi chuckled, her other hand on her hip as she looked down at the amused crowd. "A little girl is able to steal your things _so_ easily…you make it easy really. I mean, I already know most of you are 'easy' in that sense but really…." she laughed and jumped as Grimmjow made a swipe at her ankle.

Ichigo was still standing there by the door, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Wasn't the meeting supposed to start in…five minutes ago? The strawberry rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, watching as the cursing blue haired began to climb onto the table. Where was Urahara?

"Now, now, Yoruichi-san," Ichigo stiffened when said sandal-hat appeared out of nowhere and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the director smiling, his eyes hidden by his hat's shadow. Several people also turned their attention to the door, some casting glances at Ichigo as if just noticing him there. Urahara continued.

"Let's get this meeting over with and _then_ we can have some fun, 'kay~?"

Yoruichi had let Grimmjow wrestle her to the tabletop (Ichigo knew it had to be an allowance on Yoruichi's part, for surely she couldn't have been defeated so easily), only to flip the two of them over. She was now straddling Grimmjow's chest, pinning his arms to the table with her knees despite his thrashing. Seeing Kisuke next to Ichigo, she abruptly "hmph"ed and slipped Grimmjow's wallet back into his pocket. Then she nimbly climbed off and settled into the nearest chair, folding her arms over her chest. She scowled a bit. "You took too long, Kisuke."

"I apologize; I had some things to attend to." Urahara replied, and Yoruichi arched a thin purple eyebrow, seeming to understand whatever it was he wasn't saying aloud.

Ichigo watched as people scrambled to take their seats as if by some silent command, and was slightly surprised to see Grimmjow take his original seat, right next to the one Yoruichi was sitting in, without complaint. Grimmjow didn't look up, taking out his wallet to count his money, but it seemed that everyone else was now staring at Ichigo. Why did he feel like everybody was doing that nowadays? His thoughts briefly flashed to Hitsugaya and then, suddenly, there he was.

With his beautiful turquoise glare and a lollipop in his mouth.

He was sitting at the head of the "T", on the farthest right of three chairs. The other two were empty, and they were the only two unoccupied seats in the room. Even the love seat was taken by the little girl, Ururu, and a young boy with spiked red hair whom Ichigo hadn't seen before. This meant that Ichigo would either sit right next to the seemingly innocent Hitsugaya, or right next to the perverted director.

Ignoring the eyes roving across his body, including Hitsugaya's—he had to think before remembering he was not naked—Ichigo wordlessly rounded the table and sat in the latter position, leaving the one seat as a buffer between him and the white haired.

Kisuke watched, hiding his smile behind his paper fan. Then, he expanded his attention to the rest of his audience, who gradually shifted their attention to him instead of _the Virgin_.

"Alright," the former government official began, not bothering to close the doors behind him, and moved further into the room to address his beloved cast and crew. Ichigo forced his eyes to stay trained on the director, rather than the boy less than two meters to his left. He just couldn't forget the feeling of that tongue—the one slowly licking another strawberry lollipop as if it knew Ichigo was stealing glances—on his skin. He scooted his chair closer to the table to hide his already budding arousal. _"Ah…Ku…nn…Kurosaki…a-ah~" _Ichigo groaned inwardly.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

The end would not come quickly enough.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ I had a tough time debating whether I should use this version, as I'd written the beginning a few different ways—with and without humping—but I finally decided that Hitsugaya couldn't just stop on the fly after all. Besides, I think the idea of Urahara's mysterious Lollipops will play well into the story later. If this chapter seemed rushed, it's because it was supposed to._

_Okay, I forgot to do this last chapter somehow, but this chapter is dedicated to the people whose lives have been made happier by the Gay Marriage act passed in New York State. As I live in NY, I wanted to do this specially!_

_Also, I'd like to thank the reviewerss of the first two chapters, who have indulged me in my addiction (if you read the last A/N, you'd know what I'm talking about ;D ). SillyWQ, xTKx, Inkata, S.S, Scarlett Foxie, yumi-2121331, Espadascream, kz109, and Kyon-neko…You all deserve strawberry lollipops~ Hope I didn't disappoint you. Constructive criticism please!_

_This chapter is titled after the song "I Caught Myself" by Paramore, whose lyrics I wasn't able to include because it didn't fit as I thought it would. I'll squeeze it in somewhere later, but you should really listen to it now, as the lyrics are themed for Ichigo's thoughts about Hitsugaya's hump-face._

_And no, this story will __NOT__ be all about smut. I have other big things planned for this story. BIG THINGS…_

_~Besides Ichi's penis, of course, because that's a definite. 'Taku786 ^^_


	4. Thanks for the Memories

_**Summary:**__Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie,_Strictly Business_. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!_

_**Pairings:**Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings._

_**WARNING:**Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP)._

_**Disclaimer:**__Tite Kubo is the owner of_Bleach_, and the idea of_Strictly Business_is purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi)._

* * *

><p><strong>Strictly Business<strong>

* * *

><p>The end would not come quickly enough.<p>

Hitsugaya chewed on the stick of his twelfth lollipop, the last of the dozen sent by Urahara. He wasn't sure if he'd been supposed to eat them all, but it was too late now; he'd just finished the round flat green one. Watching a single large cumulus cloud inch ever so slowly across the width of the glass ceiling, he figured the drugs were responsible for the sudden slowing of time…because, surely, he'd been sitting in that chair for a couple of lifetimes now, but the sun hadn't budged at all.

Hitsugaya fingered the thin sticks on the table in front of him, stirring them around in the jar absently and not really thinking about anything in particular. Urahara was still talking, but he'd stopped trying to understand the dialogue by the seventh lollipop. The people around him ceased to exist by the tenth. There were now just him in the chair, the jar on the table, and the cloud passing over his head. Yet at the same time, he was obtusely aware of everything around him, as if he was seeing the rest of the entire world from the inside of a large, drug-induced bubble. He asked himself more than once if he was high, but he guessed that he wasn't since he still felt too _there_; too bored and very much aware of the fact that he didn't want to be there. He wished, more than once, that there was a switch somewhere to turn everything off, because he really just wanted the world to disappear. He wanted to disappear.

No, actually, he just wanted to sleep, if only to pass the longwinded time. But he was prevented from doing so by the poison hot wiring his brain, and he couldn't really do anything about it. He didn't feel like doing anything at all, anyway, as nothing else seemed to matter at this point. He was bored.

The cloud continued to crawl at its agonizingly slow pace. Hitsugaya briefly wondered what time it was, instinctively trying to recall where the clock was, but he was feeling too apathetic to actually care, and he easily brushed off the thought. Where there weren't clocks to mark the time, time didn't really exist, and so everything sort of stood still. Besides, he was too absorbed in his lonely bubble of self-existence to bother noticing anything besides his self, the chair, the lollipop sticks, and the cloud. Urahara's voice was barely more than a whisper at the back of his consciousness, and it was otherwise quiet in his bubble. Calm…relaxing. Actually, if he got past the boredom and inane drone of existence itself, it was really kind of peaceful; not having to worry about work for just a couple of lifetimes. He could even stay there for eternity, unfeeling and uncaring and uninterested in anything _outside_, completely content with being just as he was: without that insufferable, omnipresent longing that he still couldn't understand….

Would it ever go away?

Ichigo wondered at the indescribable feeling that rose from his stomach and up to his throat via his chest every time he caught himself staring at Hitsugaya. He once again tore his gaze away from the boy's profile and instead zoned in on the clock across the room above the door. It had only been a minute and a half since the last time he'd checked; since the last time he'd had to remove his eyes from the white haired male's form, and he groaned inwardly. That was, like, the tenth time in fifteen minutes. This was getting ridiculous.

Ichigo reluctantly turned his attention back to Urahara, who was still standing at the opposite end of the table. Reluctantly, because for the past fifteen minutes, Urahara had been describing each and every piece of 'merchandise' available in his shop, which was apparently open all day, every day. Apparently, it wasn't uncommon for the new actors especially (i.e. Ichigo) to need some 'motivation', and so the shop was made conveniently available for whenever one might need it. With every adult toy that Urahara rattled off in disturbingly educated description, the teen grew a smidge more uncomfortable. And then the man went and mentioned that every actor was _required_ to use certain equipment as a (perverted) sort of daily 'exercise' to discipline their restraint for when on camera. The hell kind of homework was that? This place was totally insane; how did he even get here? Scanning the relatively normal faces surrounding him, he wondered how _any_ of them had ended up there.

There were fifteen seats around the table, and he didn't even bother to count the people along the perimeter of the conference room. Directly to his right, at the end of one arm of the 'T' shaped surface, was a petite looking female with black hair cropped into a bob that hung about her face, one strand hanging between her eyes that reminded him of the young girl from before. This woman, though, possessed a maturity in her face that was focused in her violet-colored eyes, and her expression was hard; serious, her thin dark eyebrows were drawn together ever slightly. Her rigid posture, however, was unimpressive compared to the man that sat beside her.

Both possessed a smooth, pale complexion, and although Ichigo couldn't tell the color of the male's eyes – as they were closed to the conversation (Ichigo wondered if he was trying to block out the lecture as well) – he pegged the two as related, if not siblings. His back was almost impossibly straight, and his entire appearance – from his long, expertly swept black hair, to his chiseled facial features and lithe, business-casual fitted physique – screamed regality. He was the kind of perfect, well-carried man that Ichigo couldn't see ending up in a place like this, and the woman's presence alone disturbed Ichigo, because the thought of women being exploited for money just didn't sit right with him.

Next to tall-dark-and-handsome – Ichigo insisted he wasn't gay, damn it, but he had to admit the guy was decent-looking – was another raven-haired male, but this guy's shorter and messier hair was starker in comparison with his almost deathly pale complexion. Ichigo noticed, too, that this man also had a bang down the middle of his face; was that the style here? He was also considerably shorter, slimmer, and younger in age, probably around Ichigo's. And although he was just as poker faced as the taller dark haired, the shorter exuded more of a gothic aura than royal. His upper lip was painted black; his lashes and eyebrows were thick. His eyes, in the depth and complexity of their startling forest green, actually reminded Ichigo of the peculiarity of a certain white haired boy's turquoise…

The seventeen year old blinked away the image and resisted the urge to look over at the boy in question – his fists tightened in his lap, where they'd finally managed to relax minutes prior – before continuing his assessment of the table. (So not going there, he had to remind himself.)

Next to the shorter dark haired was a tall, obviously tanner man, whose bald head reflected the morning light that shone down from the glass ceiling. Small and atypical red markings decorated the outer corners of the man's narrow eyes, and his practically nonexistent eyebrows scowled with a strange intensity. His arms were folded across his chest.

Next to him was a curvaceous woman with long, oddly colored blue-green hair, her bangs obscuring her forehead, and a crimson tattoo stretching from one side of her face to the other over the bridge of her nose. Her bright hazel eyes were wide and between her mature features but childish expression, Ichigo couldn't tell how old she was. So far, she seemed like the friendliest person there…but what was she _doing _there? She was like an overgrown child, and it was just as disturbing as the little girl who walked in on him and Hitsugaya when they were – when _he _was…damn it, he wasn't going there!

Anyway…next to her was an equally curvaceous woman with skin not quite as dark as Yoruichi's, jade green eyes, and thick blond lashes that Ichigo could see even from the opposite end of the conference table. Her blond hair was short and messy, with the exception of the bang down the middle of her stoic countenance (would Ichigo have to like, restyle his hair or something?), and a deep blue lightning bolt framed each side of her face. Her arms were also folded, beneath her breasts.

Across from the dark skinned blonde was a guy who almost made Ichigo shiver. He was tall and lean, and Ichigo wasn't sure which of the guy's features were the sharpest – his facial features, or the color of his silver hair that once again reminded the strawberry of a certain boy (…Shut up, brain!) and maybe the guy needed glasses, because Ichigo hadn't once seen the man's eyes open wider than thin slits since he'd first glanced over at him. But what really disturbed Ichigo was the man's grin. It also hadn't changed, or even faltered in the slightest, despite how long the meeting had been in session, and despite nothing funny having ever been said. Either the guy was mentally replaying some _extremely _funny joke, or he was born with his face twisted into such a snake-like expression. And either way, it was kind of creepy. Apprehension settled deeper into Ichigo's gut, and he willingly moved his gaze.

Next to the creepy-grin-guy was exactly the kind of male Ichigo had expected to see in a place like this. Preppy, slightly androgynous, and most likely narcissistic. The guy's skin (he was a guy, right?) literally glistened, albeit a bit less shiny than the bald man's scalp. It had to be the number of beauty products the dude used. He was perfect, like tall-dark-and-handsome, but in an obviously more feminine way; his jaw-length, jet-black hair was expertly manicured and bore a violet sheen. His eyes were also a purple color, and his right eyebrow and lashes were adorned with colorful feathers. Ichigo had never seen a male so well groomed, and he wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or not that Hitsugaya looked the way he did. Not to say that Hitsugaya wasn't kind of pretty in a way…And also not to say that Ichigo thought the white haired _was_ pretty or anything. And _also_not to say that Ichigo was still thinking of the boy…or anything like that.

Anyway, next to pretty-boy was a taller guy with long, stark crimson hair pulled into a high ponytail and a black bandana covering most of his forehead, although Ichigo could still see his oddly sharp eyebrows. His sideburns boldly framed his face, his eyes were narrowed, and his arms were folded across his broad chest, much like the bald guy that sat across from him. Now that Ichigo looked, it seemed as though the two were having a staring contest while Urahara talked, both scowling in misplaced concentration. Huh.

Next to the red head and across from the young gothic boy was the bluenette, Grimmjow. Observing him more closely, the man's eyes were a matching blue, and the green markings beneath them were not unlike the bald man's red ones. Grimmjow also seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with the gothic, green eyed boy across from him, but it became apparently entirely one-sided. The dark haired boy paid no attention, instead focused on Urahara. This seemed to be pissing Grimmjow off. His chin was propped in his right hand, his elbow on the table, as he stared at his opposite intensely, probably trying to telepathically command the latter to _look at him_ already. Somehow, this exchange was different than that between the red head and bald man, but Ichigo couldn't put his finger on the difference. It was charged with…something. A peculiar kind of tension.

Beside Grimmjow was Yoruichi, who was smirking while she observed the former's aggravation from the corner of her eye. Andon her other side was, well, pretty much every high school boy's definition of a porn-star. (In fact, he was sure Keigo brought a magazine to school once that had this _exact _same lady on the cover…)

This female's assets were even larger than Yoruichi's and the women's at the other end of the table. They were definitely larger the small black haired girl's next to Ichigo, and unlike Inoue, this lady was a _woman_. Her blond hair was long and wavy, her skin was tanned, her eyes were crystal blue, and the ideal beauty mark was located under the right side of her full, glossed lips. Her overall appearance – amplified by the cleavage that she shamelessly revealed with an illegally low-cut pink top – should have been enough to reassure Ichigo of his sexuality. Should have, _would have_, if the woman hadn't happened to look back at him right then.

Ichigo felt his face heat, and he averted his eyes, praying furiously that she would not reach across the table and smack him. He hadn't meant to ogle, honest he wasn't. But when he glanced back, he noticed that there was neither disgust nor resentment in her eyes. Instead, they seemed to sparkle with…amusement?

And she was…smiling?

Now, that wasn't right. The woman held his gaze for a couple of moments, glanced away for a second, looked back at him, and then glanced away again. Then she looked back at him, the smirk still there, and tilted her head ever so slightly to her right before her eyes flickered in the same direction. Was she…_flirting_? No way, Ichigo thought. There was no way a woman of her caliber was flirting with him, the teenage newbie. Ichigo wasn't aware that he was still staring, trying to figure it out, until she met his eyes once again and quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow, tilting her head further. Her eyes moved to her right again. Insistently.

Purposely.

_Oh_, Ichigo thought dumbly, finally taking the hint and following her line of sight. He wasn't even given time to feel any hint of disappointment at the not-flirting before he stiffened, his thoughts stalling. He'd unintentionally followed her gaze right to Hitsugaya, who sat adjacently to her side of the table; two seats over from Ichigo.

And he'd been doing so well at staying away from _there_, damn it.

Hitsugaya was staring absently up at the ceiling, chewing on a lollipop stick. His eyes were flat, as cold as when Ichigo had first met him, but even so, Ichigo couldn't help the resurfacing of the image that he'd been trying so hard to block, and had been successful in doing so for an impressive twenty minutes. But all of a sudden, there it was again, perhaps even more vividly than before.

_He was unbearably hard. He didn't know exactly what was happening; the music, the erotic panting of his partner, and the smell of vanilla were overwhelming. "A-ah…!" Hitsugaya moaned heatedly, arching into Ichigo and squeezing his clothed erection between them as he gripped the taller male's shoulders in desperation. More… please, more… one of them thought. He rolled his hips forward lithely, clenching his legs tighter around Ichigo's waist. The pressure was miraculous. "Uh…Ku—nnn…"_

_Even in the candlelight, Hitsugaya's pale skin was visibly flushed, breathy exclamations trickling from his parted lips with every constrictive movement. Panting…moaning…why was it so hot? Thick lashes framed his hooded, lust-glazed eyes of teal, and Ichigo could feel the boy's every breath shake. They were so close to each other; Hitsugaya's face was just breaths away from his, and his mouth looked oh-so edible. He trembled with desire. He wanted Ichigo – so much so that it was hard to breathe. It was almost too much._

"_Ku…nn…Kurosaki…a-ahh!" He heaved as he practically licked his body against Ichigo's, craving – needing the delicious friction. It felt so freaking **good**…and it was too hot. He was going to drown in the liquid fire pulsing through his veins if he didn't…didn't…oh!_

"_Yes…oh, **yes** Kurosaki, there…right there…oh…f-fuck! Ahh-hah –!"_

_And, oh. The petting sensation was too much. He bit his lip and mewled in pleasure, thrusting more frantically. "I-Ichigo." Oh…oh crap he was going to…. "Ugh, Ichigo…Ichi…ah, **Ichigo**…I-chi…gah! Ah! Ichi-"_

"Moving on!"

The loud snap of a fan made Ichigo jump out of his fantasy quite violently, causing several to glance at him when he swore lowly.

He didn't notice the blonde woman's full-blown, knowing grin.

Discretely nursing his right hand, and hoping a bruise wouldn't form after its sudden contact with the edge of the conference table, Ichigo glared at the offending surface. _Shit! Go away! _Ichigo hissed wordlessly. But he was not addressing the table (because that would just confirm his crazy). Rather, he was mentally trying to strangle his imagination. Because that was _totally not how it happened_…and he was also trying (and failing) to psychically eliminate the tent in his slacks.

_That wasn't how it happened, damnit! _Ichigo silently but urgently insisted to himself. How had his brain even come up with something like that? And why the hell couldn't he get Hitsugaya's sensual expression out of his head already? Ichigo was _this_ close to banging his head down on the hard table repeatedly just to knock out his insane thoughts. He was going insane.

"I have a surprise for you all." Urahara continued in a tone that was obviously and suspiciously merry, not giving any acknowledgment to the strawberry's not-so-subtle outburst. The room perked up and slowly began to refocus on the director, half of them excited, half of them weary, all of them curious. (Well, except for Ichigo, who stared resolutely at the table, and Hitsugaya, whom still stared blankly at the glass ceiling.) Most of them knew that their director's 'surprises' were either to be greatly dreaded, or greatly appreciated.

Urahara hesitated, making eye contact with his assistant down the table – whose lips curved into a feline smirk – before going onward.

"As you all know," he said, "There have been numerous…complaints about the past living arrangements. We've been getting calls about monotonous banging on the walls, incessantly loud bouts of shouting, and disturbing amounts of audible profanity." He made eye contact with a few members of the audience in particular as he said this, but he was smiling, and there were several knowing chuckles in response. "Today," he continued, "I am happy to inform you all that my lovely assistant, Yoruichi, and I have been spending the past few months making some…adjustments.

"And so, as of Monday, the filming of _Strictly Business_ will be moved to another location, as will your assigned living arrangements."

There were two beats of silence: one in which Ichigo, being the newbie, tried to comprehend the meaning of what had just been said as he rubbed his (yes, it would definitely be sporting a bruise) hand…the other in which the large cloud passing overhead finally disappeared to one edge of the room, and a pair of teal eyes blinked lazily up at the clear blue sky, thoughts behind them faraway. Then, there was chatter. This was obviously one of Urahara's better surprises, and the stirring of excitement and curiosity buzzed throughout the room as people turned to their neighbors to ask the question that none knew the answer to, but felt the need to voice anyway.

"Where do you think it's gonna be?"

"I don't know, but I hope it's a really fancy hotel this time. Have you ever been to that one over on that street?"

"Which one, the one or the other one? Oh, and have you been to the one with the whole night club and everything? I love that one!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know the one! But hey, where do you think we're going this time?"

"Not sure. Maybe someplace with a _Maid_ service?"

"That would be cool. Doesn't that one place have _Butlers_too?"

"Yeah, dude, it was totally hot that one time I went with – oh my god – _him_. Have you _seen _the way he goes down? He fuckin' burned that place!"

"Oh I _know_! I can't wait to see our room assignments; if I can't be there, I at least wanna hear through the walls. You know, as like…a 'learning' experience."

"Yeah, totally. Hey, you know that one place with the sound proof walls? You don't think we're going there, do you?"

"I don't know; I hope not. But then, they _do _have those big-ass windows, so it'd be sweet if we got rooms across the garden and the curtains were open. But I don't really know, man. Where do _you_ think we're going?"

And so it went, similar conversations circulating in search for 'where' as people asked questions and offered opinions that didn't really pertain to the point of the conversations, all the while seeming to forget that the one who held the answer was still standing at the foot of the conference table, smiling silently. Patiently, Urahara waited for the conversation to naturally die down as attention turned back to him for explanation and people began to "shush!" each other without any prompting. And then, when a terse silence was finally achieved, Grimmjow's gruff voice rang out.

"Well?"

Kisuke grinned. He reached into his robe with deliberate slowness, pulling out what appeared to be a brochure just as leisurely before holding it up for the room to see. It took less than three seconds for most of the audience to recognize the tell-tale black and white cover. The picture of a waxing-crescent moon stark white against a jet-black background was the signature logo of the highest rated hotel for slash lovers in all of Karakura – the crescent symbol a beacon to those who roamed the city streets in the dark. The white castle in the background promised paradise for crawling creatures of the night, in search of a wild time. The room's response was, again, explosive.

"What? Really?"

"We're going _there_? You're serious? No, like, _seriously_? Oh my god."

"What the freaking what, for _real_? We're actually going there? _Yes_!"

"…I think I just died."

And so it went, acknowledgment of their director's leg-pulling nature somewhat overshadowing their elation, shock, and pleasant surprise.

Urahara eventually assured them that yes, he was serious this time, which sent the crowd into an even more excited frenzy. The girls swooned together while the guys nudged each other, grinning conspiratorially and making dirty jibes. Pleased by their reactions, the Director left them to it, sparing a glance up at the glass ceiling. The sun was almost directly overhead, which meant it was nearing lunch break. Ah. He should probably go open the shop now.

"Wait, what about the room assignments?" Someone called out above the noise of the crowd. Grimmjow again. Abrupt silence, right before another flood of questions and speculations were thrown about.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Urahara grinned and spoke, his voice clearly heard despite not raising his voice. "Now, now, everyone, I'm sure you'll all be very _satisfied_ with your room assignments, and I'll be sure to get those to you as well as the hotel's brochures for those who haven't been there (i.e. Ichigo), later. For now though, I do believe you all are allotted for some _fun_ now, right? Some of you must be _hungry _by now, no?"

There were some trailing complaints, until half of the people realized they were actually a bit hungry, while the other half realized they were in fact _hungry_. There was collective acquiescence to wait until later for the missing info to be revealed, and the director finally dismissed them with a "you all know where to find me~" and a wave of his fan before disappearing.

Similarly to how students would immediately react to a bell, the occupants of the room broke into action as soon as Urahara was out of sight. They bent over to gather their purses and empty latte cups, patting their selves down to make sure they had their wallets (Grimmjow) and otherwise essential items. Torrents of questions, gossip, and opinions that had been withheld and accumulated over the course of the meeting were exchanged. Not-so-hushed whispers charged the room's air with a murmuring buzz, and a single loud bout of laughter was heard distinctly over the hum. There was jeering and jostling and promising to meet up for lunch and other _partaking _as the majority of the crowd filed out of the room and dispersed in different directions once in the hall, taking most of the noise with them.

"Hey, Ichigo. Hang back for a sec." Yoruichi was still there, and the small black-haired girl who'd been sitting to his right hadn't moved either, but everyone else was gone. At least, Ichigo assumed. He'd sort of tuned out the last bit of the meeting because once he remembered…_that_, it hadn't been so easy to forget again. His erection hadn't disappeared. He wasn't willing to look up from the table in case he should find himself staring at Hitsugaya again ended up cumming right there in his seat.

But when Ichigo glanced as subtly as he could to the floor on his left, he didn't see Hitsugaya's socked feet idly tapping the floor. He was gone too.

Ichigo dared to raise his head and look at the door. A glimpse of white; Hitsugaya was just leaving, and he wasn't looking back – he wasn't looking anywhere, actually, just sort of staring blankly up at the ceiling. Ichigo still had no clue what had been up with those lollipops, but they must've seriously screwed with the kid's brain. (Just like the kid was screwing with his brain, from afar. He had to be. Because it felt like Ichigo was floating or something and was only weighed down by the clenching in his stomach.)

The curvaceous strawberry blonde woman was the one ushering Hitsugaya forward and out the door – she cast a last, baffling mischievous smirk over her shoulder, catching Ichigo's eye, before vanishing from view.

Ichigo wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or extremely skeptical. He was leaning heavily toward the latter, apprehension and a strange (longing?) feeling settled deep into his gut, when Yoruichi called him back to attention.

"Ichigo," she said as she stood. The little black-haired woman stood too, but Ichigo didn't move because even though _he _had left the room, Ichigo's penis apparently wanted to follow, and standing up was the single thing he just _could not do_ right then. Sorry, manners. Ichigo tried to look as earnestly attentive to the women as he could by way of apology. "This is Rukia Kuchiki."

But even as 'Rukia' began to introduce herself as Ichigo's stylist or personal assistant or whatever, Ichigo's mind wasn't fully there. Instead, it was outside the conference room, traveling through the studio halls, following a head of white hair and hazy teal eyes as they were propelled by a busty blonde woman toward Urahara's Shop.

"You have to tell me all about it once you're sober, Captain." The blonde was giggling as she guided the smaller body around a corner. "But I've been dying to ask you the whole meeting…what did he taste like? I have to say that was one delicious looking Strawberry, and you must've been _starving _with the way you devoured your candy." And teal eyes blinked. There were no clouds on the ceiling anymore, but that was okay, because the drugs had passed him into a phase of contentment. In about forty eight hours, reality would come rushing back in a storm of hard truth and fruitless searching for…_something_, but for now, he was just content.

A short, thoughtful eternity passed, before a muttered reply came. "Like…a lollipop. He tastes like a lollipop. Only…sweeter."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter was conceived nine month ago, and I have to say, I do not miss the midnight-writers' block. Named after a song by Fall Out Boy, weighs 4.6K, and is completely healthy with touches of smut, angsty!Ichi, and possiblyhigh!Toshiro.

Hope you all enjoy my baby.

~…What? ('Taku786 ^^)


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